


Not Back on Friday

by katedf



Series: Not Back on Friday [1]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 44,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard is sent to London for a few days. He is supposed to be home on Friday. The team gather at Catherine’s to greet him, but only the Commissioner shows up.<br/>Updated 17 June to add chapter titles and change rating to T.<br/>Post-ep 2.8</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inspector Poole is Still in London

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the third part for “Back by Friday?” but it got too long for one chapter. And then somehow it took on a life of its own and got much longer than I expected.

The team gathered at Catherine’s bar to welcome their Chief home. Camille had just calculated the time from the plane landing to Richard’s likely arrival—for the fifth time.

“And what time is it now?” Camille asked.

Dwayne sighed, “A quarter to six.”

“He’ll be here soon, Camille,” said Fidel. 

It was time. Camille fidgeted in her chair. She stood up and looked at the welcome home sign, moved a balloon a half inch, paced the length of the room and back, and sat down again. Where was he? All week, Camille had been fighting her fear that Richard wouldn’t return to Saint Marie. And the later it got, the more she was convinced that she wouldn’t see him again.

When Camille saw the Commissioner arrive without Richard, she sank against the back of the chair. Dwayne, now certain she had feelings for the Chief, reached over and covered her hand with his, giving her fingers a little squeeze.

“Where is the Chief?” asked Fidel.

“Ah … yes, you see…” Commissioner Patterson drawled.

 _Bloody hell, just spit it out, man!_ Camille didn’t notice that the voice in her head sounded like her, but with Richard’s accent. She held her breath.

“Inspector Poole is still in London.”

And there it was. Every fear confirmed. Camille’s ears buzzed and she thought she might faint. The Commissioner was still yammering on about something, but all she could comprehend was that one sentence. She shook her head, trying to get her bearings. Why weren’t Dwayne and Fidel upset? 

“Don’t look so worried, Camille. I’m sure you can handle it.” said the Commissioner. Dwayne, realizing that Camille was still more or less out of it, gave Fidel a sharp look and then offered to buy the Commissioner a drink. The two men walked over to the bar.

“Camille?” said Fidel. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t—what just happened?”

Fidel pushed her drink closer to her. “Take a drink, breathe, and then tell me how much of that you heard.”

“He isn’t coming back.” Camille blinked rapidly. _Does the rest matter?_

“Today. He isn’t coming back _today._ He’s staying in London for some kind of special training. But he will be back. It will be a few weeks.”

Camille shook her head in disbelief.

“Yes, really. And you missed the good part, Chief.”

“What?”

“You’re in charge until the Chief, that is, the real Chief, gets back. So you’re interim Chief.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” 

Dwayne and the Commissioner walked back to the others. Fidel gave Dwayne a little nod to say that Camille was all right.

“So, boss,” said Dwayne, “What do we call you? Sir? Ma’am? Chief? Your Highness?” He bowed like an Elizabethan courtier. 

“Very nice,” said Camille. “But you may as well call me Camille. You’ll forget and do it anyway.”

“I must be going,” said the Commissioner. He smiled, “And if Your Highness needs any assistance, I can arrange for extra help from one of the other stations. They won’t have the training your team does, but they’ll be some help. I suppose I could pitch in and help, too.”

“Thank you, sir. Unless we get something very complicated, I think we can manage. Ri—Inspector Poole has trained us well.”

“Good. Excellent. Good night, all!”

 


	2. A Visit With the Parents

Richard could have kicked himself for leaving his laptop on Saint Marie. He hadn’t thought he’d need it for such a short trip. He expected to be able to check email on his mother’s computer. But when he got to his parents’ house, he learned that she had fried some software or other—again—and the CPU was at the tech office. 

The meetings in London had gone well. He liked the head of the Serious Organized Crimes Agency, and had been pleased to be invited to their training workshop, which would give him more time in London. 

The visit to his parents went pretty much as he expected, and it wasn’t long before he regretted spending the extra weekend there instead of in London. His mother fussed over him—he looked tired, was he eating properly, was the heat too much for him, why couldn’t he come home, was he remembering his sunscreen. At this last question, he rolled up a sleeve and said, “Mum, I’m fine! Do I look like I’ve been courting melanoma?”

She smiled indulgently and ran a fingertip over his cheekbone, “You are freckling a bit, dear.”

“Mum, don’t’ fuss!”

“For pity’s sake, Helen,” said his father, “I daresay Richard can manage to slather on a bit of sunscreen.” Then he turned to his son, “I don’t know what you’re doing in that godforsaken place. Why did you let them just send you there? Stand up to them, tell them you don’t want to be there.”

“Dad, it isn’t that easy. It’s my assignment.”

“If you don’t like it, get another assignment.”

“I can’t just go pick out another place and say ‘I’d like that station, please.’”

“Hmph! Please, indeed. You’re not forceful enough, Richard. If you don’t like your job, quit and go elsewhere.”

“Dad, I am a detective for the Metropolitan Police Service. It’s one of the largest and most prestigious police forces in the world.”

“A smaller city would promote you sooner. Stay at the Met and you’ll be just a lowly DI for much longer. Stay on that little island, and you’ll never get a promotion. You’re at a dead end.”

It was probably true, and Richard resented him for saying it. So he lost his temper and replied, “I don’t care if it is a dead end. It’s the best damn team I’ve ever worked with. I like them and I’m bloody well staying there. And if that disappoints you, then add it to the list. I don’t give a flying—” and the last word of that sentence was drowned out by the slamming of the door.

Richard strode down the street. It was hopeless, just like always. He could be head of Special Branch and his mother would ask him if he was warm enough and his father would think he hadn’t done well enough. Richard had spent a lifetime reassuring his mother and trying to earn his father’s approval. Why hadn’t he told them that he might have a chance at a new, more important assignment? That might have done something toward raising his father’s opinion of him. Certainly, it would have been a better choice than defending his team on Saint Marie.

But he was glad that he had defended his team. Nobody, not even his parents, could say a word against his team and expect him to keep silent. And the bit of rebellion felt good. Not as good as the time he’d bleached his hair. He smiled at the memory of his father nearly going apoplectic. But university was a long time ago, and he was too old to be bleaching his hair now, especially considering what he had to do in the coming weeks.

Suddenly, Richard noticed that he was cold. The new coffee shop in town was still open, so he went in to get warm. He ordered tea, and as he waited for it, he noticed that many of the patrons were using laptops and tablets. He sighed.

“Is everything all right, sir?”

“I forgot my bloody laptop.”

“We have a few for customers to use. There’s one free over there.” The young woman pointed to a table at the back. “I’ll bring your tea to you when it’s ready.”

Richard logged on and opened his email. There were several from Camille, and one from the Commissioner. He opened the Commissioner’s email first.

> I hope you’re enjoying the chilly London weather. I have informed your team that your plans have changed. Camille was quite surprised to be put in charge, but I have faith that she will handle the opportunity well. Please keep me updated as to your schedule.  
>  S. Patterson  
>  Commissoner of Police  
>  Saint Marie

The waitress set down Richard’s tea just as he opened Camille’s first email, dated Monday. He smiled as he read. It was as if he could hear her voice reading it to him.

> Richard,  
>  Greetings from hot and sunny Saint Marie! What does 4 degrees feel like? Do you think it would make my teeth chatter? How many layers of jumpers would I need to wear? :-)  
>  Harry is fine. Dwayne and Fidel say hello. It’s quiet here, just a few purse snatchings in the market, and we arrested a couple of teenagers. Bored American kids whose parents shouldn’t have let them off the leash. Sigh. Not glamorous, but it keeps us employed!  
>  See you Friday!  
>  Camille 

Tuesday’s email was equally chatty. On Wednesday, she asked him why he hadn’t emailed her. On Thursday, she promised him an earful when he got back on Friday. There was no email on Friday, which made sense since she’d have expected him to be in transit. Saturday’s email was blistering.

> What the hell, Richard? Last night, the Commissioner said you aren’t coming back right away. But he didn’t say how long you’d be gone. Your phone is off, you aren’t answering emails, what’s going on? So this is it? You aren’t coming back. You’re just cutting yourself off from us. Not even the decency of a goodbye!  
>  I’d have expected better from you, Richard. I thought we meant SOMETHING to you. 

Richard started to reply, then deleted it. Better to start fresh.

> Camille,  
>  I don’t know what the Commissioner told you, but I AM returning to Saint Marie. Just not on the original schedule. It turns out that Doug Anderson’s trial is coming up in a week or so. I’m going to Manchester to meet the prosecutor to prep my testimony. Then back to London for some training thing. Then back to Manchester for the trial.  
>  I didn’t take my laptop because I didn’t think I’d need it for such a short trip. (I honestly, DID think I would be returning on Friday.) I counted on using Mum’s computer, but it’s in for repairs. I wanted to tell you before the Commissioner did, but with the time zones, he got to you before I could. Then I did try to call, but your phone was off. I left a voice mail, did you get it?  
>  As for what you mean to me, haven’t I ever said? If I haven’t, I apologize. You’re the best team I’ve ever worked with. I’ve never had a better partner.  
>  I just had a hell of a row with Dad. He said being in Saint Marie was a dead-end job—didn’t I tell you he’s always disappointed in me? Usually, I try to avoid an argument. That’s me, the dutiful son. But I could not let him insult the best friends I’ve ever had, so I argued back and stomped out. And you’ll find this bit funny—I forgot to take a coat. I’m so used to not needing one that it completely slipped my mind. I’m surprised Mum didn’t follow me down the street waving a wooly jumper at me and warning me I’d catch cold without it. I took refuge in a coffee shop that has wifi and loaner laptops. They’re getting ready to close, so I’ll have to brave the cold afternoon and the Parents.  
>  The tea here is excellent, but the company is better on Saint Marie.  
>  Richard

Richard thanked the waitress for the use of the computer, and set out for the walk back to his parents’ house. He wished he could find an excuse to leave early, but the “must go, have a meeting” trick wasn’t going to work on a weekend. He took out his phone, turned it on, and entered the ridiculous number of digits required to call Saint Marie. He got Camille’s voicemail.

“Camille, it’s Richard. Please check your email. I’m sorry I wasn’t in touch, too many things conspiring against me. Listen, no matter what you may think, I WILL be back, it just may take a few weeks. Damn, I’m getting that bloody battery pip. I’ll try to call you again after I charge this thing. Bye.” _Oh, God, please, please let me have remembered the charger!_


	3. Missed Messages

“Harry? Where are you, baby? I want to talk to you.” Camille checked the lizard’s favorite places. “Come on, Harry.”

She filled the water bowl and checked the mashed mango. It still seemed to be attracting insects, so she left it alone. Maybe Harry had figured things out already and moved on. She walked toward the beach, but turned when her phone rang. Being Chief sounded nice, but it meant being on call all the time, especially when she was the only detective. By the time she reached her phone, the call had gone to voice mail. When she saw who it was from, she made a face at the phone. Taking the phone with her, she sat on the veranda steps. Harry appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey, Harry. How are you?”

The lizard cocked its head and blinked.

“Now, how do you know that it was Richard on the phone? Did you think he was calling for you? Probably was, you’re the only thing here he cares about.” She paused and looked at Harry. “I’ll listen to it … maybe… eventually. Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

She played the message.

_“Camille, it’s Richard. Please check your email. I’m sorry I wasn’t in touch, too many things conspiring against me. Listen, no matter what you may think, I WILL be back, it just may take a few weeks. Damn, I’m getting that bloody battery pip. I’ll try to call you again after I charge this thing. Bye.”_

The lizard appeared to be listening to the voice. Camille thought she must be losing her mind, she could have sworn that the creature looked happy.

She sighed, “So what do you think, Harry? Should I go check my email?”

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille got home, she replayed the voicemail. She had to admit, he sounded almost frantic. Well, better read the email and see what he had to say. She found a ginger beer in the fridge, stretched out on the sofa, and turned on her laptop.

Camille read the email three times. She felt guilty for that last nasty email she’d sent. Poor man, he sounded like it was the trip from hell. Certainly not what he was hoping for. Blinking back tears, she hit “reply.”

> Richard,  
>  I’m sorry! I should have believed you, but you know what the Commissioner is like. There’s always some hidden agenda, and I thought he was telling us in stages. And I panicked. I think that’s a sign that I shouldn’t be Chief. So for the welfare of all of Saint Marie, I hope you come back soon.  
>  It sounds like the trip isn’t going the way you’d hoped. Especially with your father. I sometimes feel cheated because I have only one parent, but I know that I’m lucky that the one I have is so special. In fact, after I send this, I’m going over to see her and give her the biggest hug ever! I wish I could email a hug to you, too, it sounds like you need one.  
>  I know that dealing with Doug Anderson isn’t going to be easy for you. Just remember that he’s the one in the dock. You’re testifying on behalf of the Crown. You’re with the good guys. He’s the murderer.  
>  Harry says hello. He was sitting by me when I played your message, and he was happy to hear your voice. So was I.  
>  Camille


	4. New Tablet and New Responsibilities

Somehow, Richard got through a silent Saturday night followed by the requisite church services on Sunday. He managed to chit-chat with his mother’s church friends and a few neighbors he recognized. He smiled when they made jokes about him not being tan from the tropical sun. He agreed that he was very lucky to live in such a nice place, especially when it was so cold in England. He thought his face would crack, but he kept the smile in place.

Train connections are not the best on a Sunday, so Richard had planned to leave early and allow extra time. He could have gone to Manchester on Monday, as his appointment wasn’t until after lunch. But he liked to be in place and well rested before he had to work with prosecutors, get his head back into the case. He hugged his mother and said goodbye to his father, picked up his bags and got into the cab that would take him to the train station.

Richard spent Monday morning at a shopping centre near his hotel. With hotel drycleaning services, he could manage on the two suits he had with him, but he’d need extra underwear and socks. He could have the hotel launder shirts. And he’d decide later if he needed an extra tie or two. He found an electronics store and, thanks to a very helpful salesman, made a purchase. He took everything back to his hotel, ordered room service lunch, and acquainted himself with his new gadget.

> Camille,  
>  I’m writing this on my new tablet, so I have no idea if this will get to you. Why are they all i-thingy or android ? I’m too old to learn a new OS. This is why people have children . if something digital wonks out you give it to the kid and hey presto its fixed. I can’t imagine having a child. I wonder if I’d be a disapproving dad . not that it matters I guess I’ll ne

Damn! Where did it go? What did he touch that made it go? _Please, God, if you’re up there, please let me have deleted it instead of sending it!_ He tried again.

> Did I just send something ? bugger, just delete it. fraustration leading to rambling, maybe I can use a prosecutors computer and be cohesion. coherent, dman predictive text. R

Lunch arrived, and while he ate, Richard decided to try something that would help him get used to the touch screen. So he played solitaire until it was time to meet with the prosecutors.

The prosecution team was excited to meet the detective who figured out such a tricky case. It had sat in Manchester’s “cold case” files because the police had run out of leads. They talked about the case and the evidence. The lead prosecutor, Craig Fitzgerald, agreed that Anderson had no hope of beating the tape. It was admissible evidence. That and his conspirator’s testimony should do the trick. And then they got to the part Richard had been dreading.

“So you worked with Anderson?”

“Yes. I was there for a few years before he was transferred in. He was there for about two years, and then was transferred elsewhere.”

“Right, that’s all in his employment file. What was your relationship like?”

And there it was. The elephant in the room, as the saying goes.

“Not good. He didn’t like me and he took every opportunity to belittle me. I have always gone by Richard, but he insisted on calling me Dickie and Dickie Boy. He is, quite simply, a swaggering bully. I was his source of amusement. I daresay he found other people to pick on at his other stations. And yes, I disliked him. Not only for that. For his poor record as a police officer. He was sloppy, lazy, and drank his lunch more often than not. I’m sure he bent more rules than he followed. But I don’t see how that’s relevant. If he says I went after him as a suspect, you can point out that it usually IS the spouse who is guilty. Investigating him was the obvious move, especially as his wife didn’t know many people on the island.”

“All right. Did you think he was guilty from the start?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of the kind of person he was. And there was also the recognition of one of his cases. One he didn’t solve. A man was strangled and the scene was very much like the one we saw when June Anderson was killed. It was unlikely to be the same murderer, given the time and distance between the two crimes. But very few people knew the scene as well as Anderson did. It didn’t seem likely that this could be a coincidence.”

“Okay, when you testify, skip the reference to the kind of person he was. I’m sure you did have that kind of gut reaction to him. He is a swine, I’ll give you that. But if he testifies, I can show that side of him to the jury. You need to stick to the evidence and the recognition of the scene. Oh, and how did you know about the case if it hadn’t been yours?”

“Sometimes I’d read old case files to see what I could learn from them.”

“On police time?”

Richard smiled, “No. Lunch hour. Anderson would be at the pub. I’d be at my desk reading.”

“Ohhhkay, let’s not use the comment about the pub. Just that you read during your lunch hour. We want to avoid showing the jury that you disliked Anderson. Don’t give him a chance to say you railroaded him.”

“Right.”

"So later on, when he had an alibi, you looked at other suspects?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you figured out that Stuart had killed June Anderson."

"Yes. We could prove that he did it, but we didn't know why. And the staging of the scene, so similar to Anderson's case in London, caused me to look for a link between the two men. It was the sobriety chip and the fact that Mrs. Teague's death hadn't been solved that made it all come together. And, for more proof, there's the sketch based on witnesses to the hit-and-run, plus the recording we made." 

“Good. 'You do mine and I'll do yours' is often difficult to prove, but this looks solid. Any problems that you can envision?”

“No. I think we’ve covered everything.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard returned to his hotel. He took his tablet down to the restaurant and had a quiet dinner while he read the book the helpful salesman had loaded onto the tablet. After dinner, he returned to his room and watched television—in English! 

He fixed a cup of tea and made another attempt at email. He was able to open Camille’s latest email. He sighed. At least he’d done something to remedy that situation. He supposed he should call his parents and apologize to his father. An email apology would probably not be deemed acceptable. He reread Camille’s email and tried to figure out how to do a reply. He didn’t know what he touched, but all of a sudden, a new email window popped up and he was able to type—haltingly—a message.

> Camille,  
>  Ok, trying again. I like the small size of the tablet but the virtue keyboard is difficult. But I’m making progress. I found the punctuation marks! See?  
>  Meeting re Anderson went ok. I go back to London tomorrow. Not sure what the training is but it will fill time until the trail.  
>  Hello to Harry and to D and F. I miss you all.  
>  R 

He sent it—he thought—and looked at his watch. GMT minus four. She might be home, more likely she’d still be at the station or at the bar if they didn’t have a case. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille sat at the bar, sipping a glass of orange juice. It was early, so her mother had time to talk to her between serving other guests.

“Are you sure that’s all you want?”

“Oui, Maman. I know I’m taking the responsibility too seriously, but it is important. And if he doesn’t come back—”

“He will!”

“He says so. But if he doesn’t, I want to be able to make a case for letting me stay as chief. I don’t think I could learn to work with another Englishman.”

“Let me fix you some supper, and then you can go home and rest, Madame Chief. Is Dwayne still calling you Your Highness?”

Camille giggled, “No, but he curtseys once in a while. Did I tell you, Richard said he told his father that we’re the best team he ever had? I just want to make him proud, you know? Oh!”

Camille looked at the phone and smiled,

“Richard!”

_“Hello, Camille. Did you get any of my emails?”_

Camille realized that the references to fatherhood had embarrassed him, so she said, “I got one that apologized for something, but I didn’t get the something you apologized for. I gather you have a new computer?”

_“Tablet. Small, lightweight, very nice. But I’m not used to the virtual keyboard. I think in my last message, I called it a virtue keyboard. It suggests word choices, very distracting.”_

“My phone does that. You’ll get used to it. How was your meeting today?”

_“It was productive. I hate revisiting old miseries, but it has to be done.”_

“Once you’ve testified, you’ll never have to think about him again. You’ll have won, Richard. And you damn well better gloat.”

_“I’ll think about it. How is life as the Chief?”_

“Daunting.”

_“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, you know.”_

“Have you been talking to Dwayne? He calls me Your Highness now.”

_“What, only a princess? You are the queen. The queen of hearts.”_

Camille heard him gasp at what he had just said. Did he mean it the way she hoped he did?

_“Um, you know, I can imagine you imperiously shouting ‘Off with their heads!’ when someone is arrested.”_

She giggled, “I’ll practice being regal. You won’t recognize me, I’ll be so serious and responsible.”

_“Oh, I think I’d recognize you anywhere, even with your crown and royal robes. It’s late, I should get to sleep.”_

“Goodnight, Richard.”

_“Goodnight, Your Majesty.”_

Camille said goodnight to her mother and walked home humming an old nursery rhyme to herself.

Lavender blue, dilly dilly,  
Lavender green  
When you are king, dilly dilly,  
I’ll be your queen.


	5. Another Bombshell from the Commissioner

The next morning, Richard woke feeling better than he had for days. He pushed thoughts of his argument with his father aside, and focused on progress. His prep session with Fitzgerald and the prosecution team made him feel ready for the trial. He was still dreading testifying. He knew he wasn’t the best possible witness because he tended to be overly detailed. But that was what his work was about, finding the details that mattered. If he could control the flood of details and avoid looking at Anderson in the dock, he’d be fine.

And he had sorted things out with Camille. He was still a bit shocked at how much it had meant to hear her voice. He sighed. Queen of Hearts, where the hell had that come from? Had she believed his “save”? Well, he could imagine her demanding a beheading, certainly his at the start of his time in Saint Marie. He smiled and made a mental note to check one of those tacky souvenir shops to see if he could buy something appropriate for a queen. 

The trip to London was easy. Manchester to Euston, tube to Waterloo, and a short walk to his hotel. The Met had put him up in a Premier Inn in what had been County Hall. Marriott had the better views, but budgets being what they are, Richard would settle for the Premier. He could manage without a view of the river from his room. A minute or two walk and he would be out on Westminster Bridge, able to look upstream and downstream to his heart’s content.

Richard set out for his afternoon meeting at New Scotland Yard, headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service. How could anyone take this walk and not be inspired? As he crossed Westminster Bridge, he looked up at Big Ben. The huge clock shone in the wintry sunlight. Its hands reminded him that he should keep walking, not stand around daydreaming. He passed the Houses of Parliament, bristling with security. He wondered which groups of nutters were demonstrating in Parliament Square these days. 

Ah, Westminster Abbey, site of coronations and royal weddings. History all around him! Richard wondered what he would have done with his history degree had he not gone into police work. Teaching? He sighed. He’d probably be one of those ass-numbingly boring droners that students hated. He’d seen Camille roll her eyes when he went off on one of his “fascinating details” lectures. But history WAS fascinating! Given his fondness for puzzles, perhaps he’d have done research or gone on to an advanced degree in archaeology. It would have suited him well. He had the patience for slow, careful digging. The dirt would be annoying, of course. But uncovering mysteries of people who lived in the past would be worth the dirt. He stopped in his tracks, annoying the man who had been walking behind him. Richard realized that he WAS an archaeologist. The people he learned about hadn’t lived in the distant past. But he solved the mysteries of their lives and death.

A grin lit up his face. The whole bloody world was a collection of puzzles! And he was actually paid to unravel some of them. He almost ran the rest of the way to the Yard, eager to find out what his next puzzle would be.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille stood at the printer, watching sheets of paper slide out.

“You don’t have to do that, Chief,” said Dwayne, “You have staff to handle that.”

Camille looked toward Richard’s desk. She still had to remind herself that she was Chief, at least for now.

She smiled at Dwayne and shrugged, “It’s okay. Anyway, if I ordered you to collect my papers, you’d start curtseying again.”

Dwayne laughed, “You’re doing great, Chief. He’d be proud.”

Camille picked up the papers and flicked through to make sure all the pages were there. She pulled photos off the white board and handed everything to Dwayne.

“Here you are, staff. Add this to the folder and file it. We’re done with this one.”

As she said this, Commissioner Patterson entered the station.

“Ah, your first solved case as Chief. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it does.” Then she noticed the man with the Commissioner. He was wearing a suit and tie, and was looking around the station. Uh-oh, was this Richard’s replacement?

“Congratulations,” said the Commissioner, “To all of you. Now, let me introduce Detective Inspector Kevin Falconer. I’ve borrowed him from Nassau.”

As the commissioner completed the introductions, Camille’s brain raced through possible scenarios. DI meant that Falconer outranked her. So was he the new Chief? Borrowed, did that mean temporary? Or would temporary slide into permanent as it had with Richard? Well, no, that HADN’T turned out to be permanent, had it?

She managed a smile and shook his hand. “Welcome to Honoré.”

“Thank you.” 

“I hope they didn’t lose your luggage,” she said. Seeing Falconer’s confused look, she added, “Sorry, local joke.”

“No, I’ve got everything I need for a week or so.”

“Oh,” Camille looked at the Commissioner for an explanation.

“The Inspector is here to cover Honoré while you’re in England.”

“England?” Camille asked. It was just like the Commissioner to give news in the wrong order.

“Yes, you’re going to Manchester. Ronnie Stuart is going back to testify at the Anderson trial. Of course, we will send a uniformed officer with him. But you’ve been requested as well, in case the prosecution needs your testimony.”

“When am I going?”

“You will be going over to Guadeloupe on the ferry, and flying out from there. You should take the two o’clock ferry. I’ll see you off at the dock. Good day.” 

The Commissioner left and Camille glanced at her watch. Well, it was better than the one-hour notice Richard had been given.

“Right, well, welcome again, Inspector Falconer. Use the Chief’s desk and computer. Do NOT under any circumstances take any of the jelly candies in the tin in the desk. I’m sure he knows exactly how many there are.”

“Jelly babies? Disgusting things. They’ll be safe, I assure you.”

“Great. Um, I’m sorry, but I am absolutely blanking on what to tell you. We don’t have an active case, so you can settle in without that pressure. Sorry, I’m making a mental packing list when I should be—”

“Camille!” said Dwayne. “We’ve got this. Go pack. And call your mother!”


	6. Richard Poole, Fashion Consultant?

Richard’s meeting was going oddly. Talking to Michael Bowman, head of the Serious Organized Crime Agency was like talking to Commissioner Patterson. There was a point somewhere, but they were sidling up to it instead of tackling it head on.

They had been chatting about the challenges of solving money laundering cases when Richard jumped slightly in his seat.

“Sorry, phone. I left it on vibrate. Habit, you know, from being always on call.” He took out the phone and it vibrated again. He hesitated.

“Do you need to take that, Inspector?”

“It’s from Honoré. There might be a problem. I’m terribly sorry, would you mind?” The phone buzzed again.

“Three calls in as many minutes sounds like you need to answer. I’ll go see about some tea and give you a little privacy.”

The phone buzzed again, and Richard answered. It didn’t matter that Bowman had left the room. Her voice could probably be heard all the way to Greenwich.

_“Richard! Oh, thank God you answered!”_

“Camille, are you all right? What’s happened?”

_“I’m, oh, I don’t know. Yes, yes, we’re all okay. I don’t mean to worry you. I’m just in a panic. I’m going to England!”_

“Why? When?”

_“Prisoner escort. Leaving today. And I don’t know what to pack!_

“I’m in a meeting and you called me to talk about _clothes?_ Stop being so French! It isn’t all about the wardrobe, you know. You’re working. Nobody expects you to show up in designer outfits.”

“I’m not being French! I’m being Caribbean! What does four degrees feel like? I’m not joking, Richard. I’m gonna freeze!”

“Four degrees Celsius is above the freezing point of water, which is zero C.”

_“I passed science, Richard. I know the freezing point of water. Try to be helpful!”_

“I don’t know what I can tell you. Pack the warmest clothing you have and plan on shopping. When does your flight arrive? I’ll try to meet you and take you shopping. You will owe me for that, Bordey.”

_“Nine AM tomorrow, your time.”_

“Which terminal?”

“Umm, let me see, it’s MAN T3.”

“Wait a minute. Manchester? You’re flying into Manchester?”

_“Yes. With Stuart and a uniformed escort.”_

“I can’t help you, Camille. I’m back in London. Don’t you have anything for cool weather?”

_“I have some things from Paris when I was there a few years ago, but it wasn’t winter.”_

Richard smiled, “Somehow, I don’t think a Chanel cocktail dress is going to be the answer.”

_“Richard! If I could afford Chanel, do you think I’d be working as a cop?”_

“All right, I have an idea. Leave your phone on.”

Richard dug in his briefcase for a card and called the Manchester number.

_“Fitzgerald.”_

“Hello, Richard Poole here.”

_“Poole, what I can do for you?”_

“My DS is arriving tomorrow morning with Stuart, the cooperating witness.”

_“Right. I’m afraid I don’t have any details because I didn’t schedule it. I left it to one of the team to make the arrangements. Is there a problem?”_

“Could be. Will somebody from your department be meeting them?”

_“No, we usually send a detective and a couple of constables. Do you anticipate any trouble from the prisoner?”_

“No. My DS needs some help.”

_“What does he need?”_

“He is a she, and does not have winter-appropriate clothes. She only found out today that she’s leaving this afternoon, so there’s no time for her to organize anything at her end. She called me to ask what four degrees feels like.”

_“Bloody cold, that’s what. I’m sure one of the women here would lend her a coat, at least until she can go shopping. What’s her size?”_

“Her size?”

_“Clothing size.”_

“How would I know?”

_“If you were married, Poole, you’d know. I bought my wife a jumper a size too large a few years ago and, believe me, I heard about it for weeks. It pays to know these things. All right, let’s try this. Did any of the women you met in our office strike you as being her size?”_

“Ah. Let me think. Young woman, reddish-blonde, who brought in tea to a meeting. She appeared to be about Camille’s height and size.”

_“That would be Jenny. I’ll have her call your DS right away and they can work out details.”_

Richard provided Camille’s phone number and ended the call. He was just finishing a text when Bowman returned, with mugs of tea.

“Cream and sugar, yes?” he asked, setting down the mug.

“Yes, thank you.”

“So, fires all out?”

“Contained, at any rate. My DS is headed for Manchester with a cooperating witness, and had some logistical issues. Someone at Manchester will manage it.”

Bowman chuckled, “Patterson must be having a royal fit. He wasn’t pleased to have you away, and now your second in command is out of town.”

“At least she got a few hours’ notice. I got one bloody hour to pack.”

They discussed the SOCA training a bit more, and Richard finally got an idea of what was going to happen.

“We’re training you while you’re training us. It’s going to be a series of exercises in which we provide evidence and you try to sort it out. I’ve gathered people who have solved some tricky cases. We want to know what you think and how you think it. Metacognition, if you will.”

“It sounds like doing a puzzle. I quite like puzzles, part of why I enjoy my job.” said Richard. He remembered a conversation when his guard had been down. _“I like doing puzzles, it’s generally something you can do on your own.” … “You don’t have to do them on your own any more, you’ve got me.”_

“Obviously, you’re good at your job or we wouldn’t have invited you to this training session. We’ll probably have to drop your murder charges to get Vicky Woodward to retrieve the money and return it. But we’ll get her for fraud. Perhaps we can hang onto conspiracy to commit murder, perhaps not. I hope you understand that we aren’t throwing out your hard work lightly.”

“I understand. So many people lost a great deal of money. If you can get her to return it, or as much as is left, that’s more important than her punishment.”

“Thank you for understanding that. A lot of detectives feel we’ve flushed their work when we cut a deal. Of course, you solved that cold case in Manchester. THAT one will not be dealt down, I’m sure. Since the other suspect will be in Manchester, any chance that they’ll keep him in prison there?”

“They’re considering it. The conspiracy was hatched there. Only the second murder took place on Saint Marie. I don’t mind where they end up, as long as justice is done.” Richard grimaced, “God, that is such a platitude, isn’t it?”

“Healthy attitude, if you ask me. Too many detectives hang onto their cases and resent how they’re handled by higher-ups or the prosecutors.”

“I suppose it’s because I don’t see these as _my_ cases. My team solved the cases, not me alone. You know, thinking of my team, my DS will be in England this week. I don’t know how long she’s staying. But if it can be arranged, could she join the training? She looks at things very differently from me. If _we’re_ training _you,_ there could be quite a lot to learn from her.”

“How to use women’s intuition?”

Richard laughed, “That’s an ongoing dispute between us. But no, it’s more than that. I expect most participants will be male, methodical, and English?”

“Yes.”

“Then it could be very instructive to see her in action. She’s female, feisty, and French.”

“Triple threat, sounds good.”

“I don’t know what her schedule is, but when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

-o-o-o-o-

Brrt! Camille’s phone buzzed. She looked at the text.

_Jenny will call you._

What was that supposed to mean? A few minutes later, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

_“Hi, Sergeant Bordey?”_

“Yes.”

_“I’m Jenny Stevenson. I work for the Manchester prosecutor’s office. I understand you need wardrobe help?”_

“Yes! I live on a tropical island and have nothing for winter in England! I live in sandals and shorts and sleeveless shirts.”

_“Right. Can you organize jeans, trainers, and some kind of jumper for the flight?”_

“Yes. I have a few things like that, but nothing proper for court or work in winter and no coat.”

_“Pack your basics, and I’ll get you winterized. Now, tell me your sizes and I’ll see what I can lend you.”_

The two women chatted for a while. They were about the same size, so Jenny said she would be at the airport with a coat that would fit Camille, and they’d take it from there.

Catherine arrived just as Camille ended the call.

“Maman! It’s going to be all right. Richard took care of it.”

“He’s buying clothes for you?” asked Catherine, clearly skeptical of the man’s taste.

Camille giggled, “God, no! But he arranged for a woman from Manchester to meet me at the airport and help me shop.” She blew out a big sigh, “How am I doing for time? I owe Richard an apology. I laughed at his muttering while he packed. He had only an hour. I’m going crazy and I had four hours! Oh! Richard!”

She grabbed her phone and placed the call.

_“Poole.”_

“Richard! Am I disturbing your meeting?”

_“No, I’m standing on a bridge watching the sun set behind Parliament. It’s beautiful.”_

“Take a picture! I want to see it. I called to say thank you for Jenny. She sounds wonderful.”

_“Good, I’m glad I could be of some help.”_

“And you’re relieved you don’t have to take me shopping, I know.”

_“How long will you be in Manchester?”_

“Until the trial, I guess. If they think I’ll be helpful.”

_“Would you like to come to London? I can get you into some of the training sessions.”_

“Could I?”

_“I’ll see what I can arrange. And you need to find out what Manchester wants you to do in terms of schedule. So call me from Manchester after you meet with the prosecutors. They’re very good, I think you’ll like them._

“I’ve got a little time before I have to leave. I was going to take Maman out to your house to show her how to take care of Harry. Can I get anything for you while I’m there? Do you want your laptop?”

_“Desperately, but it will put you overweight on carryon limits if you’re taking your own. Anyhow, I need to force myself to learn to deal with the tablet. Umm, let me see. Ties! That would be a help. And a couple more shirts, if you’ve room in your bag. Ties in the closet, shirts in the second drawer of the dresser.”_

“No socks, no underwear? Sister Marguerite won’t be there to help me pack your underpants, but I’m sure I can manage.”

_“Not funny, Bordey.”_

“But don’t you need any of that?”

_“I shopped for necessities as soon as I knew I’d be staying past Friday. And I did some laundry at Mum’s._

“Mmm hmm, you mean Mum did it for you.”

Richard declined to answer that. _“Say hello to Harry for me. See you soon.”_

“See you!”

Camille ended the call and hugged her mother. “I’m going to London! Until the trial, some sort of training.” 

“I thought you had hoped to go to Paris for a few of your free days, not work in London.”

“Oh, Maman! Paris is beautiful, but London…” She trailed off as she dug into her closet.

 _London has Richard,_ Catherine thought. She smiled when Camille pulled out her treasure.

“It may not be Chanel, but it’s from Paris!”


	7. A Girl Can NEVER Have Enough Shoes

Camille made it to the ferry just barely in time. On Guadeloupe, she was met by a detective and driven to the airport. There she joined Ronnie Stuart and the constable who was handcuffed to him. They skipped the lines and went to one of the small security rooms, where they presented papers to the guards. Camille was not carrying a weapon. The constable showed his and the accompanying paperwork to the guards. It was agreed that he could keep his weapon, but Camille had to carry the clip. Both would be handed to the air marshal on their plane. They were then shown to a small office where they could wait until boarding began. 

Camille excused herself to do a little shopping. “Everything Island” had the items she was looking for, so she made her purchases quickly, met her companions, and boarded the plane. 

The flight was smooth, and Camille managed to sleep most of the way. Arrival in Manchester was easy. They were met by a detective and two uniformed officers, who took custody of the prisoner. Jenny took custody of Camille. 

“Come on,” said Jenny. “Let’s get coffee and talk about what you need.”

Camille had made a list, and Jenny reviewed it. She made a few annotations about where they would get various things. Jenny gave Camille a rundown on shops that she would find useful. For starters, she suggested Boots for toiletries, cosmetics, and the like. And their tights were quite good.

Camille groaned, “Tights! Ugh, I haven’t had to wear them since I trained in Paris. I don’t think you can even buy them on Saint Marie.”

“What is it like where you live?” asked Jenny. So, as they drove out of the airport on a chilly winter morning, Camille talked about white sands, palm trees, turquoise seas, and the hot, humid climate. Jenny thought it sounded wonderful.

“Well, I think so,” said Camille. “But Rich—Inspector Poole hates the heat. He is determined to stay as he is, and he walks around in thirty degree weather in a dark suit!

Jenny laughed. “It sounds like you should do a Trinny and Susannah on him.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re two women with a television program. It’s a makeover thing. They look at your closet and tell you that everything you own is hideous. It’s quite fun, actually.”

“He’d never let me do that. I mean, he nearly killed me when I reset his television to French service. If I took away his London clothes, he definitely would kill me.” Camille smiled as she remembered Richard chasing her along the beach, demanding she change the television back.

“You’re close,” said Jenny.

“We’re partners. It’s a very small force on a small island, so we have our little team that always works together. In a way, it’s almost like a family. Richard and I the detectives, so that makes us the parents, and we have two brats—no, one brat. Dwayne is the bad boy. Flirts with the ladies, comes in on Monday with a hangover. But he’s a good cop. Fidel is the good boy. He’s younger, and very eager to do well. And he is doing well, he just got his sergeant’s stripes. And he has the cutest little girl! Richard is very reserved, but Rosie can melt his heart with just a bat of her eyelashes.”

“It sounds ideal.”

“It is. I honestly do like my life and my job and my friends. And maman. My mother also lives in Honoré. I guess she’s the grandmother of our group. Oh, merde! She’d skin me alive if she heard that. She wants real grandchildren, and Dwayne and Fidel don’t count. But I’ve been going on and on. Tell me about Manchester and what you do.”

“Nothing glamorous. I’m an assistant. I’m trying to get my law degree part time while I work. It’s going to take forever, but I’m determined to do it. The barristers have been very kind, helping me with assignments, letting me watch proceedings. And today, instead of answering phones and filing paperwork, I get to be your personal shopper and chauffeur!”

Jenny and Camille shopped for almost three hours. They arrived at Camille’s hotel weighed down with shopping bags. Jenny helped Camille take everything up to her room, and made tea for them while Camille unpacked.

Camille held up two blouses in bright floral patterns. “Hey, Trinny, tell me which one goes better with the suit.”

Jenny looked at the blouses. “Oh, my, they’re gorgeous! I think the pink one will look better with the grey suit.”

“Then the green one is yours.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Yes, you can. I bought these in a shop in the airport, intending to keep the one that works best with my new clothes and give the other to you. The fabric is silkscreened on one of the smaller islands and the garments are sewn on Guadeloupe, so it’s genuine Caribbean. With your coloring the green one will look fantastic!”

Jenny took Camille to a café near the office, where they could have a “girly salady lunch,” and then Camille met with the prosecutors. She thanked them for the loan of Jenny, and said that she had a respectable suit to wear if she was needed for the trial.

“That’s good,” Fitzgerald said. We might need you to corroborate some of what happened, especially the little sting with the recorder.”

“Fidel hid it under the mattress, Dwayne gave Anderson the keys, and we waited to see what happened. I understand that there is no expectation of privacy in a jail cell?”

“Yes, that’s true. But we are concerned that Anderson is going to claim he was trapped. The fact that his partner rolled on him protects what you did. Stuart told you what he did and what Anderson did, and you acted on that, not on any dislike of Anderson. 

“That’s true. We knew what had happened before Anderson incriminated himself. We—Richard, really, found the connection between the men. Then Stuart corroborated that. We just needed the proof to back it up.”

“Anderson is full of bluff and bluster, and has an aggressive lawyer. Their approach will likely be that a policeman, a protector of the community, a man who was grieving, was tricked by someone with an axe to grind.”

“But that isn’t true. Richard didn’t even gloat after we caught Anderson. I would have.”

“This is the one chink in our case. Tell me about the relationship between Poole and Anderson.”

“What I know or what I saw?”

“What you know comes from Poole. I want what you saw. And remember, he’s Inspector Poole, not Richard.”

Camille nodded. “First, Anderson scolded Inspector Poole about not doing obvious things like rounding up all the druggies or other likely suspects. Nobody really rounds up the usual suspects, at least not since Claude Rains in Casablanca. Plus, the way the villa was set up, a robber would have had trouble getting in, so it was not likely to have been a random crime. Anderson acted outraged, probably just trying to direct attention away from himself. Another time, Anderson berated Inspector Poole for not doing enough investigating quickly enough. The Inspector was testing June Anderson’s sunscreen by wearing it on his arm and sitting in the sun. We thought the sunscreen had been tampered with, and, well, the inspector was the only one with skin that would show a difference quickly.”

Fitzgerald smiled, “I understand.”

“Anderson’s rant started out about how Inspector Poole was wasting time and how, instead of working, he was ‘topping off his tan.’ Those were Anderson’s exact words. Then Anderson went on to be insulting, saying that the Inspector was useless, nobody liked him, he had no friends, that sort of thing.”

“Picking a fight?”

“No. From the way he spoke and his body language, I’d say he knew he wasn’t going to get a fight. It was bullying and belittling. I’ve seen next of kin frustrated by lack of progress before. They get angry, but they don’t get personal in what they say. Anderson was personal and nasty, but the Inspector refused to rise to the bait. Later, after we all heard what Anderson said in the jail cell, and Anderson knew we’d heard, he still thought he could walk away. He said that Inspector Poole couldn’t catch him because he had no proof. Again, he belittled the Inspector’s abilities. He didn’t say much of anything to the rest of us, ever. It was all aimed at Inspector Poole.”

“One last question. You are a small team, you work closely together. Would you, or any of the team, falsify evidence to protect or defend your Chief?”

“We are close and we are loyal. We would do almost anything for each other. But not break the law. He’d never forgive us if we did.”

“Okay! That’s very good. You’ve testified a fair number of times, I’d guess.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Good. You’d mostly be backing up what we can get from Inspector Poole, so it’s unlikely we’ll need you, but we do want you to stay around.”

“Stay around in Manchester? Or may I go to London? I have an opportunity to join some training sessions there.”

“Going to London is fine. Plenty of trains every day to get you back here. Just stay in touch. And thank you for solving one of our cold cases.”

“I didn’t solve it. The team did.”

“Funny, that’s what Poole said.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille walked through a shopping centre on her way back to her hotel. She bought the few remaining items she needed. Then she stopped in a store she knew only from magazines and treated herself to some pretty underwear. She knew she had to wear conservative English-style clothes. But the girl from Saint Marie couldn’t be conservative down to her skin, and this store had just what she was looking for.

When she got back to her hotel, Camille called Room Service and then she called Richard.

_“Poole.”_

“Hi, it’s Camille,” she yawned. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

_“How was your flight?”_

“Good. I slept some of the time, but I’ll sleep like the dead tonight. Jenny must have taken me to six dozen stores! I got some respectable winter clothes.”

_“And did you meet with the prosecutors?”_

“Yes, it went well. I might be called to testify, I might not. I’m cleared to go to London until the trial.”

_“Excellent! The hotel here is holding a room for you, so I’ll confirm that after we hang up. There are plenty of trains from Manchester to Euston. They take a bit more than two hours. So call me from the train and I’ll meet you at the station. The training sessions are individual case studies, so I can miss a session to collect you.”_

“Thanks. I have a suit for court. I guess I should wear it for the first training session, make a good impression and all that? I bought sensible shoes. Boring, but professional. Oh, and I splurged on some great shoes! Not a total splurge. I bought them in black, which is kind of practical. Not sure where I’ll wear them, but I had to have them. High heels are difficult in Saint Marie, but in a city, they’ll be fine. Shopping is like drugs, you know? The more you do, the more you have to do. Especially shoes. I’m a little sorry I didn’t buy them in red. If I’d bought them in red, they’d definitely be FM shoes.” She heard a squeak and an odd noise, and said, “Richard? Are you there?”

_“Um, yes, sorry, dropped the phone. What are FM shoes?”_

Camille smiled. If he dropped the phone like that, he knew very well what FM shoes are. “Follow Me shoes. As in follow me home.”

_“Ah, well, um, perhaps we can find an occasion for you to wear your new shoes. Do you like opera or ballet?”_

“Yes, both.”

_“I’ll check the schedule. On short notice we may be up in the Gods, but it’s still an experience not to be missed.”_

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_“Goodnight, Camille.”_

“Goodnight, Richard.”


	8. You Can Take the Girl Out of the Caribbean…

When Camille got off the train at Euston Station, Richard was waiting, with a luggage trolley at the ready. 

“Richard!” Camille hugged him. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Hello to you, too.” He put her bags onto the trolley. 

“Thank you for being so prepared,” she said, pointing to the trolley.

“I figured we’d need it. All you could talk about last night was shopping.” He shook his head. “So French.”

Camille slapped his arm. “Be nice! How did you get out to the tracks? I thought you had to have a ticket.”

“Just showed my credentials. I told them I was looking for a suspect.”

She laughed, “Are you going to arrest me again? Do you have your handcuffs with you?”

“Tell me which bag has those shoes you were wittering on about. If I hang onto it, you won’t go far.”

Given the amount of luggage, Richard decided that a taxi would be better than the Tube. As they stood in the taxi rank, Camille amused herself by looking at the advertisements painted all over the cabs. “We should do that on Saint Marie. It would help the drivers make a little more money. That one over there, the one that is pink. Wouldn’t that look cute driving through Honoré?”

Camille was a bit disappointed that the taxi they got was plain black. Richard grumbled about her desire for cute and told her that a black London taxi was a classic. Richard gave the name of the hotel, and sat back.

“Don’t you have to give him an address? London is a huge city.”

“No, London taxi drivers know every street, every major building and hotel. They take an exam to prove it. Best taxis and drivers in the world!”

As the taxi crawled through traffic, Richard pointed out landmarks. “The British Museum is just a block or two in that direction. I’ll take you there. It’s absolutely brilliant. Millennia of civilization in there. The Egyptian collection is quite good. We got a lot of archeological finds when we won Egypt. You know, from that French general, what was his name? Oh, right. Napoleon.”

“Stop it, Richard! Be nice or I’ll get on the Eurostar and go to Paris.” The taxi driver swung into a roundabout that wrapped around a circular building, and Camille laughed, “Except for the wrong side of the road, your traffic patterns remind me of Paris, with all the circles, loops, and one-way routes. But there’s less honking and shouting here.”

“We don’t shout. We’re English. We grumble.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” She leaned into his shoulder for a second and laughed. Then she pointed to a landmark, “Oh, look! The Eye! Will we have time to ride the Eye?”

Richard bit back a remark about tourist nonsense when he saw her excitement. “I’m sure we can find time to do that. The lines aren’t too long in the winter, and you’ve got a good warm coat for waiting. Think about other places you’d like to see. Unless there is a major delay, we’re here until the trial starts.”

Richard guided her through the hotel’s self-check-in. Her room was on the floor below his. He walked her to her room, and made sure her key worked. At first she was annoyed at his behavior. But then she realized that he was being concerned, not patronizing.

He turned to leave and she said, “Wait. I’ve got your clothes.”

Before he could help her, she flipped the suitcase onto the bed. She pulled out a pile of her clothing and dropped it on the bed. Then she removed a shopping bag she had used as a divider. She slipped his shirts and ties into the bag and handed it to him.

Richard surveyed the pile of clothing and said, “You must have spent a fortune.”

“Not really. Jenny is very clever. She took me out to a wealthy suburb to a charity shop, actually two. Oxfam and some children’s charity. You can’t believe the beautiful things people donate. So I went a little crazy on work clothes. It was nice not to have to spend too much on clothes I won’t wear again. But then I had to spend some of what I saved on a suitcase.”

Camille noticed that Richard was distracted. Had he noticed the bit of peach-colored lace peeking out from the pile? _Good,_ she thought, _You just think about that for a while._

He regained his composure and said, “I’ll leave you to get settled, say a half hour? Then lunch and off to meet the SOCA group. And, um, thanks for the clothing delivery.”

“I can change and be ready in a half hour. Pick me up here or meet in the lobby?”

“Um, lobby, I think.” and he retreated.

Camille smiled. Oh yes, he definitely saw a bit of lace.

-o-o-o-o-

Despite clothing advice from Jenny, Camille was nervous about the first training session. The grey suit was very nice, but with the conservative jersey under it, the look was too alien. She pulled out a scarf she had brought from home. No, that wasn’t it, either. She almost longed for the days when she was in uniform. There were no decisions back then. 

Her reflection frowned back at her. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with ME?” she asked it. Then, with a few choice words in French, she tossed the jacket and scarf on the bed, and pulled the jersey over her head.

Even with her last-minute change of clothes, Camille was in the lobby ahead of Richard. She was standing with her back to him as he walked out of the lift. He couldn’t believe how conservative she looked. And the shoes, well, they couldn’t be the FM shoes. She was wearing the sort of shoes one wears to court or funerals. 

Richard wondered what it cost her, not in money, but in terms of personality, to dress like that. Then she turned around. Under the suit, she wore a bright pink flowered blouse. The contrast was ridiculous, but on her it made sense. No matter what she wore, she was still Camille.

She looked nervous, “Too bright?”

He smiled, “Surprising, that’s all. Very _you.”_ She still looked uncertain, so he added, “I like it. You look …” _not fine, don’t say fine._ Somewhere in the way-off dark recesses of his brain, he recalled an argument precipitated by him telling a woman she looked fine. 

“What? Should I change? Is it too _me?”_

“No, you look fantastic. I just … I hesitated because the first word that came to mind was _fine,_ and I know that’s a trigger word.”

He held the door for her and they walked out into the cold afternoon.

“A trigger word?”

“Yes, I know it’s wrong to say _fine_ when a woman asks how she looks. I don’t know why it’s wrong, I just know that it is.”

“And where did you learn this bit of wisdom?”

“Believe it or not, Camille, I actually have dated. You know, back towards the end of the last ice age.” He sighed, “I wasn’t very good at it. I have a knack for saying the wrong thing.”

Camille tried so suppress a smile. Yes, he certainly did have a talent for that.

He saw her struggle and shrugged, “Yes, well, we were running late, and she was fussing about some detail, which earrings to wear or something like that. I don’t recall. I said she looked fine and she blew up like Vesuvius.”

“Then what happened?”

“I compounded the error by arguing back.”

Camille couldn’t control herself any more. She laughed. “Of course you did.”

“It isn’t funny. It was our last date. Actually, no. The one before that was the last because she refused to go after the argument.”

“I’m sorry for laughing, but I can just picture you digging yourself in deeper and deeper. Seriously, I’m sorry you had a bad experience.”

“Yes, well, at least it was a learning experience. But that’s old history. And not very interesting, especially when you have real history all around you!” As they walked to New Scotland Yard, Richard pointed out landmarks and talked about history, the House of Commons, the ceremonies of Westminster Abbey. He noticed Camille’s smile.

“Sorry, information overload?”

“No, it’s interesting. I won’t remember all of it, but that’s all right. I can see how much you love London.”

“How can anyone not? More than two thousand years of history happened here! Romans were here. Did you know there still are remnants of old Roman walls? And the river! Imagine all the kings and queens who rode on barges up and down the river. Think of the great cities of the world. They all grew up near waterways. Nowadays, we think of the river as mostly in the way of traffic. But for centuries, the river was how people and goods got from place to place.”

They continued to walk, with Richard spouting information and Camille listening and asking a few questions. She loved how his face lit up with excitement as he warmed to his topic. They stopped to cross Victoria Street and Richard looked at Camille again.

“Sorry, I get carried away.”

“No! Don’t be sorry. I like it. You’re an excellent detective, Richard. But in a way it is sad that you didn’t stay with your studies of history. You would have been a wonderful teacher. I wish you could see yourself while you’re talking about it. Your excitement is contagious. I’ve never been very interested in English history, but you’ve made me want to learn so much more. And isn’t that a big part of teaching, awakening your students’ curiosity? Never be ashamed of passion, Richard.”

The “walk” sign bleeped, and they crossed the street. Richard stopped talking and pondered Camille’s last statement.


	9. A Comedy Duo

After a quick lunch in a pub, Richard and Camille walked into the New Scotland Yard building. They showed their IDs and were checked through security quickly. Despite the smooth process, Richard could sense Camille’s growing unease.

As they waited for the lift, Richard said, “That was easier than I expected.”

“Why? I don’t have a criminal record, you know.”

“Apart from illegal entry and search of a beach shack and a boat. Oh, and breaking into a research station, mustn’t forget that transgression. And then there were those vending machines.” Richard smiled when he saw her temper start to flare. Did she know how adorable she was when she got irritated? But at least she was less nervous, so his comments had had the intended effect. “Seriously, I was a little concerned about the fingerprint scan because I didn’t know how good the file from Saint Mare would be.”

“Oh.” She fidgeted with something in the jacket pocket, then quickly removed her hand.

“Camille? It isn’t like you to be nervous like this.”

The lift door opened, and they got in. They were the only ones in the lift, so after the door closed, Richard took Camille’s hands in his and gave them a squeeze. The lift stopped and he quickly released her hands.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “It seemed to work for Dwayne that time, so I thought I’d try it again. Awkward?”

“No, but don’t go into the dog story again.” She was laughing as they stepped off the lift. 

“Before I forget,” Richard said, “There were two ties in that bag that aren’t mine.”

“They’re yours.”

“No, I’ve never seen them in my life.”

“They’re yours now. I bought one at a shop in Guadeloupe Airport. And I got the other at the shopping centre in Manchester. I know you probably won’t wear the one from Everything Island, but I couldn’t resist. But you might try the red one. It isn’t too bright.”

“I should have asked, but forgot, I do have a favorite tie, one that you didn’t bring. I wear it rather a lot. It’s dark blue with a light blue stripe. I should have asked you for it, but never mind.” Camille had stopped walking so Richard turned back. “Camille?”

“Hmm? Oh sorry, sorry, nothing to worry about.” She caught up to him and they entered the meeting room. 

Richard picked up his name badge and handed Camille hers. He introduced her to a few of the detectives he had met earlier. Camille chatted pleasantly and looked around the room. There were about two dozen detectives there, and only three were female. Camille noticed that they were all dressed much as she had been before her moment of rebellion. She put her hand in her jacket pocket again. 

Richard noticed this odd nervous behavior and, guiding her to a seat, said softly, “You look so much better than they do.” He looked around the room at the sea of dark suits and added, “I’m almost sorry I didn’t wear Harry’s tie.”

Michael Bowman entered the room, and everyone stood. 

“Good afternoon! Sit, be comfortable. I thought this morning’s case study exercise went well. I had another one planned for this afternoon, but I thought you might enjoy hearing from the most recent addition to our group.”

Camille’s eyes widened. Did he mean HER?

“DI Richard Poole and DS Camille Bordey work in a pretty bare-bones setup on an island in the Caribbean. They don’t have access to as much high-tech as we do here in London, and they don’t have all the data bases we do. We’re trying to rectify that last problem, but the budget will never put a DNA lab on Saint Marie.”

Bowman smiled at Camille and Richard, “I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but it was pretty recent, so it should be fresh. I’ve got the official case notes on my laptop if you want to check any details. But mostly, I want to hear, not so much what you searched for and all the evidence you found, but what made you think the way you did. So introduce yourselves and tell us about the Powell case. Poole, you might explain how you came to be on the island.” 

They walked to the front of the room. Camille had her hand in her pocket again.

“Boss first,” she murmured.

“Thanks a lot,” he said to Camille. Then he addressed the group. “I’m DI Richard Poole. I worked homicide in London, and when the DI on Saint Marie was killed, I was sent to investigate. I was supposed to be there just until Hulme’s murder was solved. DS Bordey was working undercover, and her case intersected with mine.”

Richard paused as Camille cleared her throat. Then he went on, “It’s a long story, and you can ask her how she ended up in a jail cell with a goat, but—” the room erupted in laughter. Richard was surprised at how much he enjoyed it. He hoped Camille wouldn’t be too angry. At least he hadn’t described what she had been wearing.

“Anyhow, my investigation actually solved hers—”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, it did. All right, after I found out what you had learned and put it together with what I had. Anyhow, the Commissioner of Police was so impressed that he got the Met to assign me to Saint Marie, and I’ve been there for about a year, partnered with DS Bordey. Camille?”

“I’m DS Camille Bordey. I was born on Saint Marie, trained in Paris, but returned to the Caribbean. I was undercover when Inspector Poole and I met. And yes, there’s a story about a goat. But it wasn’t as bad as it sounds, and I’ve enjoyed getting the Inspector’s goat ever since.” Again, there was laughter throughout the room. Richard grinned, enjoying how she had taken the joke and turned it back on him. 

“I guess I should explain the English-French combination. Saint Marie has passed back and forth between France and England for a long time. There is a strong French culture, but the island belongs to England now, and many English tourists take their holiday there. There has been a long tradition of placing an English DI in Honoré and other police stations as Chief of Police, with the rest of the team being local. You may also find it interesting to know that in the case that Inspector Poole solved with such skill, it turned out that the English DI was murdered by his local WPS.” She paused and turned to Richard, “Just something to think about, Sir.”

“Right, well, I think I’m safe for the moment, with all these police officers around. Now, the case we’re supposed to tell you about began as a murder at charity function. An apparently wealthy English man had started a charity…”

Later, Camille took up the story. Now that they were talking about a familiar case, it was easy to speak in front of the group of strangers. “It was odd how they kept saying the man’s name. Jack Roberts this, Jack Roberts that. We couldn’t find him, and we couldn’t find a way he’d left the island. So I finally tracked him down on the internet, and he’d been dead for three years. Drowned in la Manche.”

“English Channel,” said Richard. Camille glared at him, and he said, “Do go on.”

“So, there we were, with a suspect who had drowned,” she paused and gave Richard a don’t-say-it look. “A dead man could not have made an appointment with Powell’s secretary, could not have driven to the house, despite the fact that we did see a car drive up. There was nobody unaccounted for who could have done all the things that had been staged to make us believe that Roberts existed. Sir?”

Richard picked up the narrative, “We looked again at the timeline to see how pieces of the fake Roberts could have been played by various people, working together. We also took another look at the plane ticket for Powell to go to the Caymans. It was clever of the secretary to have booked that ticket, as it supported the idea the Powell had taken Roberts’ money, which would have been a motive for Roberts to kill Powell. It looked very tidy and she probably thought we’d give up when we couldn’t find Roberts.”

Richard paused and asked, “Anyone remember _All the President’s Men?_ What did the informant tell the reporters? Follow the money. That plane ticket turned out to be the secretary’s big mistake. She showed us where the money had gone. And when we discovered that the charity’s money had been diverted to the Caymans, we knew that Powell wouldn’t have done that. He was trying to rehabilitate his reputation. He might have moved every bit of his own, but he wouldn’t have robbed the Marine Reserve. But the secretary would, and in fact, she did.” 

“Thank you both.” Bowman joined them at the front of the room, and addressed the group, “I think the important thing to come away with here, apart from the fact that they didn’t give up, is that they found the fraud as the result of a search for motive. I’m also pleased to report that, as part of a plea bargain, the secretary has agreed to return the money and help us find other hidden money. Any amounts that can be shown to have been donated to the Marine Reserve will be returned to it. The rest will go into the victims’ fund that was established to receive monies we recovered in the course of our investigation of Powell.”

After a coffee and tea break, the detectives formed small groups to work on another case study. Bowman had asked people not to work with those they knew, so Richard and Camille found themselves in different groups.

Richard was with two other men and a woman. One of the men was curious about Saint Marie.

“So, Poole, how did you get so lucky? A tropical island, sunshine, beaches, must be heaven!”

“Some aspects may be heavenly, but it’s hot as hell, sand everywhere. The tea is appalling, and they leave the heads on seafood. Prawns, with these huge eyes and long antennae, just daring you to eat them.” He shuddered.

“Still it can’t all be bad,” asked the other man. “Are the women all as pretty as Camille?”

Richard shrugged, “I hadn’t thought about it, really. I’m not the station’s ladies’ man. That’s one of my officers, Dwayne. He has probably slept with or cuddled,” Richard did air quotes at this last word, “nearly every woman on the island. Not Camille or her mother, or the Commissioner’s wife, and probably not the nuns at the local convent, although one of them is an old friend of his …” They all laughed, and the conversation turned back to the case study.

Camille’s group also was curious about life in the Caribbean, especially about police work there.

“You know, now that I think about it,” said Camille, “A lot of our crime is committed by and against tourists. For example, Powell was living on Saint Marie, but hadn’t been there terribly long. And his killer was his secretary, also new to the island. Let’s see, there was a guy searching for pirate treasure, he wasn’t local. And a woman at a plastic surgery spa. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike tourists, that’s the base of our economy. But I do wish they’d stop killing each other!”

One of the detectives asked, “So Poole is the lone English officer, and the rest of you are local?”

“Yes. That’s pretty typical on Saint Marie. The Met keeps a presence—”

“And you do all the work?” asked another detective.

Camille laughed, “I’d like to say that, but no, he works at least as hard as the rest of us put together.”

“Did you really not prepare that presentation?”

“We didn’t! We were not aware that we would be asked us to do anything like that.”

“Really? Because you two have great timing.”

“Timing?”

“Yeah, you could be a comedy duo. Standup, maybe. Or even sketch comedy. Like those two blokes, Armstrong and somebody? Guys that got a BAFTA a few years ago. You two are genuinely funny together.”

Camille shrugged, “It’s just our way. We argue details all the time. There’s a lot of give and take. It’s … things are … looser in the Caribbean. We aren’t slackers. We take our jobs very seriously, and we want to solve every case. But we don’t take ourselves seriously. And rank doesn’t matter. I like that we’re a small team and everyone contributes. Nobody is afraid to ask questions or suggest alternate ideas.”

-o-o-o-o-

On the walk back to the hotel, Camille and Richard discussed the sessions and the people they’d worked with. 

“They wanted to know how I got so lucky, being on Saint Marie,” said Richard.

“I hope you said nice things about us. The Commissioner won’t like it if you give us a bad reputation.”

“You know, it’s funny. I always focus on the heat and the sand and things like that. But there really are quite a lot of things I like about Saint Marie. The first night I was back here, I found it difficult to fall asleep without the sound of the waves. I don’t even notice it when I’m there. But I missed it. And the colors. The bright white buildings, the green hillside, the turquoise ocean. It’s like living in a picture post card. If only it wasn’t so bloody hot and humid. Ah well, enjoy the cold while I can, eh?”

“I’m glad one of us is enjoying it!”

When they got back to the hotel, they made plans to meet for dinner. Camille took her coat off while they waited for the lift.

“Camille?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you have in your pocket? I noticed that you kept slipping your left hand into your pocket.”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “It’s nothing. Just a keepsake, something for luck, for when I feel nervous or alone.”

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

They got onto the lift, and just before the door closed, a couple with large suitcases dashed into the lift. Camille stumbled as she moved out of their way. Richard put his hand out to steady her. They were squeezed into the back of the lift, and Richard could see that Camille’s jacket was open, and away from her body. He slipped his hand into the left pocket. When he saw her good luck charm, he was stunned. Why was she carrying THAT? He quickly tucked it back into the pocket before she knew what he’d done.


	10. Hot Vichyssoise

Richard and Camille enjoyed the training sessions. Sometimes they looked at case studies in small groups. Sometimes the entire group was shown evidence and invited to comment. During the last session they were shown a series of videos of witness interviews. After one video, Bowman asked the group what they thought. Was the woman lying?

Camille raised her hand and asked. “Is that a real witness or is she an actress?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Something about it is off, like she’s anticipating moments to be nervous.”

“People with something to hide often anticipate a question and blurt something out without meaning to, especially if they’ve rehearsed an answer,” said one of the DCIs.

“That’s true,” she replied, “But there’s something about the tics and tells. It would be easier for me if I were talking to her and not watching a video. But it feels to me like she’s an actress with a script, not an actual witness.”

“Interesting discussion!” said Bowman. “All right, let’s see what you all think. Who thinks the witness is an actress?”

Camille put her hand up right away, as did Richard. Across the room, a few of the other detectives raised their hands. But most did not.

Bowman smiled. “Right, everyone who did not raise his or her hand, stand up please. And the rest of you may put your hands down.”

There was scuffling and scraping of chairs as people stood. 

Bowman looked around the room, then looked at Camille. “All of you who are standing, give the detective sergeant a round of applause. That WAS an actress. It was from a training film we made several years ago. Well done, Sergeant Bordey! Inspector Poole, any chance you’ll let me steal her?”

Richard felt a moment of panic before he realized it was a joke. _Be one of the boys, don’t clam up._ “Not bloody likely! She’s my only DS and absolutely essential to the team. And don’t bother going over my head to the Commissioner. He won’t let her go, either.” This comment was met by laughter and applause.

After a few more exercises and some concluding remarks from Bowman, the workshop ended. Camille excused herself to go to the loo, and Bowman walked over to Richard.

“Excellent work, Poole. You did very well in these exercises. You have a sharp eye for detail and an incredible memory for cases. I know you’ve worked homicide for a long time. Did your experience with the Powell case or these workshops give you any ideas? Bordey is outstanding, too. Thank you for suggesting she join the workshop. Obviously, she belongs to Saint Marie. But you’re Met. Something to think about, you know? Let’s talk before you leave for Manchester.”

By this time, Camille had returned. Bowman thanked her again for adding so much to the workshop.

As they walked back to the hotel, Camille asked Richard if she had showed off too much. 

“No, absolutely not. You were fantastic. I had told Bowman you look at things differently, and you proved my point.”

“Thank you for putting your hand up right away. I appreciated the support.”

Richard gave her a wry smile. “I do try to be supportive. But it was more than standing by a colleague. I didn’t spot it, but you did. I trust your instincts, so I raised my hand.”

“So, you believed she was an actress because I said I had a _feeling_ she was?”

Richard was cornered and he knew it. “Your feelings about people are often right. But you take great leaps based on feelings, and you are not always right there.”

“I was right about that bikini insurance woman.”

“No, she wasn’t the killer.”

“But she was lying. I told you she was lying.”

“Yes, you did and she was. But she wasn’t lying about the murder, and that was your unsubstantiated leap. Besides which, you didn’t like her.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, come on, Camille, I’m not a genius about women, but I could see that you didn’t like her. And that colored how you interpreted your feeling.”

They continued to argue over the old case all the way back to the hotel. 

-o-o-o-o- 

Richard decided that they should celebrate their hard work with a trip to his old local, the White Hart. He told Camille that dress could be casual and comfortable. She changed into jeans, her trainers, and a bright green turtleneck, which she was delighted to discover matched one of the scarves she’d brought from home. She had expected Richard to show up in the lobby wearing his suit. He surprised her by having replaced the jacket with a pullover. She smiled. For Richard Poole, that was dress-down Friday. 

They walked to the Underground. Richard had bought Camille her very own Oyster card and as they walked, he explained the system and how to “tap” in and “tap” out.

She smiled indulgently as he explained the importance of “tapping” out at the end so that she wouldn’t pay a greater fare than necessary.

“Yes, Richard, I understand. I’ve ridden the Metro—”

“This is the Underground.”

“Right. I’ve ridden something vaguely like this during my time in Paris, and they have cards like this. The Metro is more than one hundred years old, did you know that?”

“Hmph!” said Richard, as they waited on the platform. “The London Underground is the oldest underground railway in the world. It has Paris beat by 37 years.”

A train arrived, and people streamed out. Even so, the cars were crowded and they had to stand. Camille held onto a pole. Richard stood behind her, one hand on the pole, the other around her waist to steady her. 

“Don’t want you to fall,” he said. Camille smiled, wondering what it would feel like if they hadn’t been bundled in winter coats. 

Richard told Camille to look at the map posted in the car. “Do you see where we are? Find Waterloo, where the Northern and Jubilee lines meet.”

“What colors am I looking for?”

“Sorry, I should have told you colors not names. You can’t see the key from this distance. Black and Grey. Also brown. The connected circles show the lines meeting.”

“I see it. And we’re on the grey line going to the right?”

“East.”

“Yes, which on the map is toward the right.”

Richard sighed. His breath on her neck tickled, and Camille giggled, which only made him sigh again.

“Okay, you said we’d have a change?”

“Yes, follow the line east.” He paused, waiting for her to say ‘to the right,’ but she didn’t. “Look for the intersection with the double orange lines.”

“Got it. Will we go up or down?”

“South” said Richard, through clenched teeth. Camille giggled again.

“I’ll have you know,” he said, “You are making fun of an iconic map. The Underground was the first transport system to have a diagrammatic map like this. The original was designed by an electrical draughtsman. In some ways it resembles a circuit diagram. London was the first city to use such a map. Other cities, _including Paris,_ copied the style.”

They changed trains at Canada Water Station. Richard guided Camille through the change, and soon they were headed south on the London Overground. After a few stations, they were able to find seats. 

“Why is it the Overground if we’re underground?”

“Because a lot of it is overground. It was assembled out of bits and pieces of Underground and Rail lines that had connected with the Underground. It was reorganized and refurbished. The updated line out to Croyden was opened only in 2010. Just my luck, after years of a difficult commute, things finally improved, and next thing you know, I’m off to the Caribbean, on an island that has no public transport.”

They got to Croyden and walked to the White Hart. Just inside the door, Richard stopped and looked around. The place was smaller than he remembered, but the smell was familiar. A fire crackled in the grate. It was still a bit early, so they were able to get seats in the snug. 

Camille smiled, “I see why they call it a snug. It is cosy.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“I suppose a beer, but I don’t know much about English beer.”

“Come to the bar with me and see what you’d like.”

As they approached the bar, the bartender looked at Richard and said, “Inspector? Is that you? I thought you’d fallen off the Earth!”

“Near enough,” said Richard, pleased to be recognized. At least Camille wouldn’t think he was a complete loner. “I was transferred. Just back for a visit.”

“Ah. It’s a nice change to see you bring a date to our humble establishment.” And the reputation for being a loner was restored.

“She, um, isn’t my date. She’s my sergeant.”

“Well, if that’s what sergeants look like these days, I want to sign up for your army!”

“That’s Detective Sergeant, and I don’t suggest you mess about with her. She could take you in a fistfight.”

The bartender laughed and said, “So what’ll it be, then?”

“Porter for me,” said Richard, “But I think something lighter… Describe what’s on tap, if you would.”

The bartender rattled off names and brief descriptions. Camille had trouble deciding.

“I could do you a sampler. You know, a flight.”

“A flight?” asked Richard. “When did you get so posh?”

“Yeah, that’s the new thing. A ‘flight’ of beers.” The bartender snorted derisively. “But people want it.”

“I’ve heard of that for wine tastings,” said Camille. “You work your way up the flight from milder tastes to stronger.”

“Right,” said the bartender. “So, I’ll set up your flight. Sit yourselves down, and I’ll bring it over.”

Richard picked up menus, and they returned to their seats.

“He’s nice,” said Camille. “I was worried I’d embarrass you by not knowing much about English beer.”

“A lot of people don’t. You should see the number of young people who order bottled American or Mexican beer. It used to drive me crazy. England produces many excellent beers. Small breweries are cropping up all the time. The beers on draught here are all from Fuller’s, which is in London. I mean, it’s made right here! And people want swill from across The Pond instead of local draught.”

Camille laughed, “There ought to be a law!”

“Too right,” said the bartender as he set down their drinks. “But I’m in business, and have to sell what the punters buy. Still, a small local like us gets mostly people who know what’s what. It’s the pubs in central London that get the people who want Bud and Corona.”

The bartender handed Camille a list of the beers she was trying. Then he handed a folded slip of paper to Richard and said, “I think she’ll pick this one.”

“How do you know?” Richard asked.

“Just a feeling.” He walked back to the bar, and Camille laughed. 

“See, Richard? Lots of people go on their feelings.”

“Try your beers and we’ll see if he’s right.”

They tasted the various beers. Richard impressed Camille by being able to name two of them without reading the list. Camille said she liked Chiswick best, but decided to have the Organic Honey Dew because it was a bit sweet and she was in the mood for something unusual. Richard unfolded the paper.

“Damn. He got it right. Would you like a pint or a half?”

“A half. Isn’t that what ladies are supposed to order?”

“Since when—no, there is no answer to that question that won’t get me into trouble. Have a pint if you want one.”

“No, honestly, a half is enough, especially considering the size of your pints and all the tastes I’ve already had.”

“I’ll order food when I go for your beer. Choose whatever you want for a main, but you should have the leek and potato soup for a starter. Theirs is delicious.”

“Vichyssoise?” 

“No, that’s French. This is leek and potato.”

“Richard, Vichyssoise IS leek and potato. Served cold.”

“Ugh, no. That’s a soup that has to be hot. Warms you up on a chilly night.”

By the time they had finished eating, the pub was getting crowded and noisy. A few regulars remembered Richard, and said hello but didn’t linger to chat. 

The trip back to the hotel was quiet compared to their earlier trip at rush hour. Without even realizing it, they held hands as they sat on the train. Camille rested her head against Richard’s shoulder.

“Sleepy?” he asked.

“A little. I’m so full, it makes me drowsy. You were right about the soup. Their hot vichyssoise was excellent.”

“Leek and potato. My country, my rules.” Richard smiled. He hadn’t been on a date in ages. Not that this was a date. But it was sort of like a date. The people he met in the pub seemed to think it was a date. But it wasn’t. They were colleagues on a business trip. Still, it had been a lovely evening.

At the hotel, Richard walked Camille to her door, which she thought was very sweet. She surprised him by kissing him quickly on the cheek before saying goodnight and going into her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard's rant on beer is based on my opinions of beers. What are you English people doing drinking Bud in a bottle???? (I'm American and I won't drink that stuff) Have a locally brewed draught!! And if you must drink bottled beer, have a BRITISH beer. Rats! It's 9:30 local time, and I want Trooper Jane Crackshot Ale. Too bad it's an ocean away. sigh


	11. The London Eye

On Saturday, Camille got her chance to ride the London Eye. The morning started out overcast, and Richard pointed out that visibility wouldn’t be optimum, but she insisted. She also insisted on “Saturday clothes,” which for her meant jeans, turtleneck, and trainers. For Richard, it meant no tie and his pullover instead of his jacket. 

“Oh, come on, Richard! I don’t care if I look like a tourist. I AM a tourist. That’s better than looking like a businessman taking a ten-minute break from a meeting!”

“Half hour.”

“What?”

“The ride. It lasts a half hour.”

“I know,” she said as they walked toward the attraction. “I looked online. Did you know you can get a capsule all to yourself? It costs five hundred pounds! I think that includes champagne. And here’s the funny part. There must be a host with you. I guess they want you to have a chaperone. But if you’re going to spend that kind of money, they should give you privacy. In case… you know…”

“Camille, honestly! Have you looked at the capsules? They’re all glass! You can see from one to the next. There would be absolutely no privacy!”

Camille laughed. She suddenly had an image of two people embracing in a capsule, then realizing they had an audience. “You’re right. It’s much better when you have some privacy.”

The Eye wasn’t busy, so capsules were not being loaded with the maximum number of people. That allowed room for everyone to have a good view of the city as they rode up and around. Richard pointed out sights.

“There’s Waterloo Station. And that railway bridge is the Hungerford Bridge. It goes to Charing Cross Station. And if you look to the right of the railway bridge, you can see an obelisk. It’s called Cleopatra’s needle, although it had nothing to do with Cleopatra. There’s a twin to it in New York.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. Paris has an Egyptian obelisk, too. In fact, Paris got theirs first.”

“Hmph!”

Camille giggled and leaned into Richard’s shoulder, “Don’t sulk, Richard. London can’t do everything first. What’s the next bridge?”

Richard brightened, “Waterloo! Named for, the battle where—”

“I know.”

“Now who’s sulking?” Richard put his hand on Camille’s shoulder and turned her slightly. “Off in the distance, do you see that tall, pointed building? That’s very new, called the Shard because it looks like a shard of glass. And then across the river, also in the distance, is the building they call the Gherkin. It’s the one with the spiral design on it.”

“What church is that?” Camille pointed to a dome.

“Saint Paul’s Cathedral. One of Christopher Wren’s buildings.”

“Oh!” We’re at the top!” Just as Camille said that, the sun came out. She turned to look at Westminster Palace. “Ohhh, how beautiful!”

Still with his hand on her shoulder, Richard looked at Camille. “Yes, beautiful.” 

As their capsule moved lower, Richard pointed out a few more sights, but mostly he was content to stand and enjoy the views, both outside and inside the capsule.

After their ride, they decided to enjoy the sunny day by walking along the river. It seemed everyone else in London had the same idea, so Camille put her arm through Richard’s so they wouldn’t get separated. They passed a souvenir shop, and despite Richard’s protests, Camille went in.

“I have to get souvenirs! Help me find something fun for Fidel and Dwayne. Oh! Police, that’s perfect!” Camille picked up small teddy bears dressed as London Bobbies. Then she put one back and picked up a Beefeater, so they wouldn’t be the same. 

Richard watched her poke through a rack of t-shirts. He groaned when she pulled one out.

“You need this!”

“No, I don’t.”

“But it’s so _you.”_ she whined. 

“No.”

“Keep Calm and Drink Tea, if that isn’t you, Richard, then I don’t know what is. What are all these Keep Calm things about?”

“It was a slogan during World War II. The original was Keep Calm and Carry On, meaning don’t panic. Recently, it has sprouted a life of its own. They’re silly, and some make no sense whatsoever. I mean, what does Keep Calm and Bazinga! mean?”

“I don’t know what that’s about. Oooh, now I’m not sure about Dwayne’s souvenir. Teddy bear or Keep Calm and Drink Beer shirt?” She hmmed for a bit. “The shirt, definitely the shirt.”

They cut their walk short because Camille wanted to go back to the hotel with plenty of time to get ready for the opera. 

“How long does it take you to get ready to go out?”

“Usually not so long, but this is the OPERA!”

“Camille, when I booked this, I checked about dress code, since I know you’ve been obsessing about clothes. There is no dress code, so we won’t need to be in formal dress.”

“No, not formal, but you’ll wear a suit, of course. You always do. So I want to be dressed nicely, too. Why won’t you tell me which opera we’ll be seeing?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s the most performed opera in the world.”

Camille huffed, “Only you would know a hint like that.”

Richard was finally forced to admit that it was easier for a man to dress for an evening out. His “uniform” of suit and tie required little in the way of decisions. Camille expounded on the issues of hair and makeup. When she commented that making sure that the undergarments were suitable for the outfit, she saw him blush. _Thinking about that lace, are we?_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're seeing a proliferation of "keep calm" t-shirts in the US, too. I don't know if "Big Bang Theory" is shown in the UK, but "bazinga" comes from that show. And the bazinga shirt has a classic atom in place of the crown in the shirt design.


	12. The Royal Opera House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the pastry chefs at the Royal Opera House's caterer. Their gateau opera is magnifique!

The Royal Opera House

Camille could get ready for an evening out in less time than she had allowed. But if he was building anticipation by not telling her what they were seeing, then she could force him to endure a bit of anticipation, too. She frowned at her hands. She usually kept her nails fairly short. She’d let them grow a bit longer in the time she’d been in England. They still weren’t optimal for polish, but, it was the OPERA, and she was going for an effect. She’d flirted with scarlet, but in the end, she bought the burgundy. It was less obvious, and looked good against her skin. 

While she waited for the polish to dry, Camille very carefully searched the internet for the Royal Opera House site. Obviously, their schedule had limited his choice, but what luck! It was one of her favorites. She’d seen it in Paris, and knew the story. Did he know the source of this? It was Italian, by Verdi, but the story was French!

Five minutes before he said he’d collect her, Richard knocked on Camille’s door.

“Just a moment!” She put on her coat, and opened the door. “You’re early. Five minutes.”

“Sorry, I, um, just thought, um… but you’re ready.”

“That’s because I expected you to be early. If we were at home, I’d sit you in the living room and let you fidget while I took extra time to finish dressing. But since I’ve only one room, I thought I should be ready early.”

“Then shall we go?”

Their taxi was waiting, and despite London traffic they were at the Royal Opera House by six. Richard walked over to the will-call desk. The woman couldn’t find his tickets at first.

“If they aren’t under Poole, try Warner.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Warner did leave a packet for you. I’m so sorry, sir!” The woman reached under the desk and pulled out a large envelope. 

Richard thanked her and as they walked through the lobby, he looked into the envelope. Tickets were clipped to a glossy souvenir program. Also clipped to the program was a note that said, “We got lucky!”

Richard took off his coat, and helped Camille with her coat. As it slid off her shoulders, he gasped. He’d seen hear bare arms before. Hell, he’d seen almost all of her bare that day on the boat. But there was something about this dress! It was sleeveless, and had a fairly low neckline in the back. A chain that ended in a little heart dangled tantalizingly from her gold necklace. He had no idea why that struck him as incredibly sexy, but it did. Perhaps it was the way it drew attention to the long zipper that ran down the back of the dress. 

Camille turned around. The front was not cut particularly low, and the openwork gold necklace gleamed against the black of the fabric of the dress. The dress was not tight or clinging, but somehow it managed to show off her figure very well. 

“Wow!” was all he could say. “Will you, uh, be, you know, warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” Camille held up what Richard had thought was a scarf, but was actually a pashmina shawl.

He checked their coats and they walked up the stairs. One of the butlers in the Crush Room showed them to their table. People were milling around, as it was the lobby for the Grand Tier as well as one of the dining areas, but Richard didn’t notice anything but Camille. 

She crossed her legs, and he noticed that her stockings had little sparkly bits at her ankles. And, yes, he’d follow her anywhere in those shoes. 

Camille thanked Richard for wearing the red tie she’d bought, and complimented him on how good he looked with a bit more color to his wardrobe. She waited for an answer, but didn’t get one.

“Richard?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear a word I said?”

“Ahh, no. I, um, no. Temporarily driven senseless.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Insufficient vocabulary. I need a thesaurus. What’s a synonym for _wow_?”

“ _Wow_ will do.” Camille sat back with a satisfied little smile.

The butler delivered their glasses of champagne. Richard lifted his glass in a toasting gesture. “Then _wow_ it is. From scruffy undercover cleaner to…I don’t know, supermodel? You look magnificent. And yet you’re actually dressed rather simply. How does that work?”

Camille clinked his glass and sipped her champagne. She smiled and said, “The classic little black dress. Coco knew what she was doing. It works every time. This may not be Chanel, but it is from Paris. And a Frenchwoman knows how to wear a Paris dress. It’s all in the attitude.”

Richard sighed, “You make me feel like an old frump. You’re getting admiring glances. And they’re probably looking at me, wondering how I managed to be here with you.”

“You’re not old! And you look very handsome, especially when you relax and smile. Anyway, it’s none of their business why I’m here with you. I know why, and someday maybe you’ll figure it out. Now, are you going to tell me which opera we’re seeing?”

Richard handed the program to Camille. She did her best to act surprised.

“Ooh! _La Traviata!_ I love this. It was my very first opera when I was in Paris.”

“Oh,” he sounded disappointed. “You’ve seen it.”

“I’m happy to see it again. There’s a reason why it’s the most produced opera. It’s dramatic and romantic and tragic.” she sighed, “So French.”

“No, it’s Italian, Verdi.”

“Oh, I know it’s sung in Italian. But the story is French. C’est moi!”

“Camille, you are neither consumptive nor a courtesan.”

“No, the name! It’s based on _Camille,_ the story by Dumas. And here I thought you were being so clever, choosing this opera to see.”

The waiter brought their soup, and Camille looked at Richard in surprise.

“We didn’t order yet.”

“I had to pre-order. And I’m afraid the soup is the only course that will be warm. They don’t serve hot food in the Crush Room. I suppose it’s partly distance from the kitchen and partly that they don’t want to burn down another theatre. This is the third one on the site, built in the 1850s and, of course, renovated since then. But I wanted to eat here because this is part of the theatre. The other restaurants, in the Floral Hall, are not part of the actual building.”

“Why is it the Crush Room, will it get crowded?”

“No, it’s supposedly named for the popularity of an orange drink called orange crush. It was served in this lobby area in Victorian times. If you want to see a crush, you should see the other bars during the interval. This is so much more civilized.”

The next course, lobster tail, was delivered by one of the butlers.

Richard smiled, “I chose this because I know you like seafood. And it’s served without eyes. I don’t dislike seafood, you know. It’s just that I don’t like my dinner to stare at me!”

By the time they finished the main course, it was time to go to their seats. Richard explained that they would have dessert and coffee during the interval. He looked at the tickets. Lucky, indeed. They were in the Grand Tier.

When they reached their seats, Camille looked at Richard in astonishment.

“How did you get these seats? Oh, God, they must have cost you a fortune at a broker!”

“No. I, uh, I hate to do it, but I used a contact. We had a case here a number of years ago, and the security team were so pleased at how quickly we—”

“You!” she smiled.

“We, our team, solved the case. Warner, head of security told me that if I ever wanted tickets, I should call him. I took a chance, and he remembered me. I bought what I could get online, and he said he’d request that any better seats that opened up be available for me as an upgrade. And here we are.”

The production was lavish, with exquisite gowns and glittering sets. Camille smiled as Alfredo declared his love for Violetta. He was so sweet. Ah, if only…

Richard divided his time between watching the opera and watching Camille. Their seats were just around the bend of the horseshoe, and he had given her the seat closer to the stage. That way he could look at her without being obvious. Once or twice, during applause, she’d looked at him and smiled. He couldn’t believe how happy it made him to know he had pleased her.

During the interval, they returned to their table. The butler set down their desserts and poured coffee.

“Ohhhh,” Camille sighed, looking at the dessert. “How did you know? J’aime la gâteau opéra!”

“I’m glad. It seemed an apt choice for this evening.”

“A perfect choice! A perfect evening, Richard!”

They enjoyed the rest of the opera. Camille sniffled here and there, and gasped when Alfredo threw the purse of money at Violetta. She had to blink back tears when Violetta died. She saw Richard reach for a handkerchief, but she shook her head. She was NOT going to smudge her makeup!

As Richard had predicted, it was nearly impossible to get a taxi as the crowd poured out of the opera house. 

“Can we walk?” Camille asked.

“Not all the way back to the hotel. Not in the cold, and definitely not with you in those shoes.”

“I can walk in heels!”

“I’ve no doubt that you can. But I do not want to fight off the men who’ll want to follow you home!”

“Let’s walk a bit.” Camille linked her arm through Richard’s as she had done that afternoon. “And you do know that _Follow Me_ is a euphemism, right?”

“Oh, er, um, is it?”

She giggled. _You know very well that it is!_

They walked through Covent Garden Market. The shops were all closed, but some restaurants were open late, so it was still lighted and a pleasant place to stroll. Camille managed to make it across the cobbled area, and then relaxed as they reached normal pavement. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that terrain,” said Richard.

“It’s fine. I survived. Oh! _My Fair Lady!”_ Camille pointed to the church. 

“Yes, that’s St. Paul’s. And, you’re right, it is the opening scene for _Pygmalion.”_

Camille rolled her eyes, but resisted the urge to quarrel. 

Richard glanced at Camille. It was unlike her to resist a chance to disagree with him. He smiled and said, “We should wander through here during the day. There are buskers in this area, and the market here has high-end crafts and sometimes there are antiques.”

“What’s a busker?”

“Street entertainer. They’re very good here. They can’t just show up and perform. They have to audition and be approved.”

Luck was very much on Richard’s side that evening. As they walked in the direction of The Strand, Richard spied an available taxi. As the taxi crossed Waterloo Bridge, Camille said, “I know where we are! Oh, this isn’t so far from the hotel.”

Richard walked Camille to her door. She smiled, “Thank you for a magical evening.”

“You’re welcome. It was a good production.”

“I had a wonderful time.” Camille slipped her coat off and placed one hand on Richard’s chest, sliding her fingers under the lapel of his jacket.

“So did I.” Richard smiled and removed her hand from his chest. His smiled faded and he shook his head. He kissed her palm and said, “But you know we can’t. For about a hundred reasons.”

Camille sighed, “So many?”

Richard shrugged, “Give or take a few. But lack of wanting is not one of them.” He paused and said, “Do you have your key?”

“Right here.” She opened the door and held it slightly ajar. She turned back and said, “Good night, Richard.”

“Good night.” He turned and walked to the lift. He heard her door click closed just before the lift arrived to take him to his room.

Inside her room, Camille kicked off her shoes and unzipped her dress. She saw her reflection in the mirror as she removed the dress. She smiled ruefully at the lacy undergarments she’d bought in Victoria’s Secret. Someday, she promised them. Someday.

Inside his room, Richard took off his jacket and tie. He thought about Camille. Two steps. Two steps and they’d have been inside her room. And then… God, he was going to fantasize about that long zipper down the back of her dress all night. He could imagine—no he couldn’t. He’d get the damn thing caught, or pinch her skin, or do something stupid to kill the mood. Damn, why couldn’t the Met put him in a hotel room that had a minibar?


	13. A Cold Sunday Morning

Richard slept poorly and woke early. Was it really principles that made him walk away from Camille last night? Or was it cowardice? And did it matter? Bowman had hinted about a possible appointment to SOCA. It would keep him in London. It would include a promotion and a raise. It might, just might, improve the situation with his parents. 

But did he want it?

Just as Camille would sit on a beach and watch the waves when she was troubled, Richard needed the Thames. He scribbled a quick note, slid it under Camille’s door, and went outside to think and walk.

It was a grey day, well suited to his mood. And it was cold. Had a year on Saint Marie really thinned his blood so much? At this hour on a Sunday, few places would be open. Considering the lack of pedestrian traffic on the walkway, that was only logical. But one place was open. Probably had hideous tea, but it would be better than nothing. Richard bought tea and sat on a bench, facing the river.

Damn, he was tired of wanting things he couldn’t have. And no matter what he chose, there would be something he’d have to give up. Or was there anything to give up? He was too old for her. Far too stuck in his ways and grumpy. And she was… gorgeous, luminous, vibrant, feisty, sexy, sophisticated, desirable. He sighed. She was all those things and more—and all he could come up with last night was _wow._ He sipped the tea, now growing cold, and stared at the river.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille slept better than Richard did. But she, too, woke early. She frowned at the empty half of the bed next to her. Maybe it was time to give up. God knows, she’d tried last night. If her best Paris LBD and sexy shoes didn’t do it, she was out of moves. She had wanted him to see that she could be the city woman who gets all dressed up and goes to the opera, not just a police detective or some girl from the Caribbean who wears shorts and goes liming at a local bar. In frustration, she flung the unused pillow across the room. That’s when she noticed the piece of paper on the floor. She got up and read the note.

> Camille,  
>  Gone for a walk and a think. If I lose track of time, call me and I’ll come back for breakfast.  
>  R, 6:00

She checked the clock. It was 7:30. Had he been walking and thinking for an hour and a half? It was cold out, but a walk and a think might be good for her, too. She threw on jeans and a turtleneck, grabbed her coat and went out. As she left the hotel, she looked at her phone. He hadn’t left a message or a text. Maybe she should call him? 

_“Hello, Camille.”_

“Good morning. I woke up early and saw your note. Are you all right?” Stupid question, she thought. She could hear in his voice that he wasn’t.

_“Just thinking.”_

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. Can I help?”

_“I don’t know.”_

Camille heard him sigh and felt a knot in her heart. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

_“It’s… it’s complicated. I’m looking at the rest of my life, and I don’t like it.”_

Tears pricked Camille’s eyes. She’d volunteered at a hotline, and while she didn’t think Richard was truly suicidal, it was the kind of statement that set off alarms in her head. Okay, keep him talking.

“Tell me. Maybe I can help.” She put her phone on speaker so that she could use the screen while she talked. Please, God, let the app work. She touched “find caller.”

_“I don’t know that anyone can help. I think Bowman is going to offer me a job.”_

“SOCA?”

_“Yes. He sort of hinted at it on Friday. He’s like the Commissioner, smoke and mirrors, and you have to figure out what he’s really after. Maybe he won’t offer, and all this introspection is for nothing.”_

“You’d be good at it. He’s crazy if he doesn’t want you.” Camille’s eyes widened as a map popped up on her screen. She started walking. 

_“Do I want that? I love London, but I know what my life was like before. It will be like that again. Alone. Go to work all week, spend the weekend doing laundry and crosswords. Maybe a jaunt to a museum. Then Monday again, and another work week.”_

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

_“No, but it will be. It seems to be what I do.”_

“If you don’t want your life to be like that, why do you do it?” Camille asked. She could see him, now, sitting all alone, slouching, looking at the river.

_“I’m not good at… you know, people. Relationships.”_

“You’d get better at it if you’d practice.”

_“I don’t know how… I just… You don’t… We can’t…”_

Camille watched him run his hand through his hair in frustration.

_“Five years from now, I’ll likely be sitting alone on a bench on a cold Sunday morning, with a cup of execrable take-away tea.”_

“Well, if you do, it will be your own damn fault, Richard. For one thing, don’t get tea from a McDonald’s.” Camille smiled as his head snapped up and he looked around. She ended the call and walked toward the bench.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“How did you find me?”

Camille shrugged and sat down on the bench. “I’m a detective. You know, like the Mounties, I get my man. I admit you’re a tough case to crack. But you’re worth it.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“You’re so out of my league. You’re too young, for one thing. And beautiful, sophisticated. You deserve romance, to be courted. Not some bumbling idiot who can’t come up with anything better than _wow_. You’d end up disappointed in me.”

So the city sophisticate hadn’t been the right way to go. Any other man would have been attracted. Trust Richard to be intimidated.

“Actually, _wow_ was the exact response I was going for. The look on your face when you took my coat last night,” she sighed, “That was better than flowery speeches or romantic gestures. Richard, last night you said it wasn’t from lack of wanting. I know the rules worry you. But we’re here on a lovely cold and damp London Sunday. Can’t we pretend there are no rules, no job offers, no decisions to be made other than where to have breakfast and which museum to go to?” _and which bed to end up in?_

“I suppose one good Sunday is better than none.”

“Richard, it doesn’t have to be one day. I could have gone to Paris for a few days, but instead I came to London. I could be lounging in a comfy warm bed right now, but I’m out here on a cold bench. Figure it out, Richard!”

He turned to look at her and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, you must be freezing.”

“No, it’s above zero Celsius, even if just barely.” Camille smirked, and that earned her a tentative smile from Richard. “Don’t change the subject. I know what I want. What do you want, Richard?”

“You.” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He looked startled and a little frightened.

“Good. Because I want you, too. Now, you better kiss me, Richard Poole, because I didn’t get a goodnight kiss last night, or a drowsy good morning kiss this morning or … mmmmph.”

Months of longing went into those first few kisses, and when he pulled back, Camille looked at Richard and, in a breathy voice said, “Wow!”

“Yeah. Wow,” said Richard in amazement. He kissed her again. After several minutes, he said, “We should go inside. You do know that we’re probably on two or three CCTV cameras right now?”

Camille giggled, “Oh no, you mean there’s a video record of us shagging on a bench?”

“No, Camille, that wasn’t shagging. That was snogging.”

“What’s the difference?”

Emboldened by their kisses, Richard leaned forward and kissed her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, and in a whisper that gave her shivers said, “I’ll show you later.”


	14. A Rainy Sunday Afternoon

Camille and Richard returned to the hotel for breakfast. As they finished their coffee, they talked about things to do. Neither felt ready to admit what they really wanted to do. Richard suggested the Victoria and Albert Museum. Camille countered with the Transport Museum.

“No,” said Richard. “Too popular with kids. It will be heaving with families on a weekend. How about the Docklands Museum? We could take the tube one way and the river bus the other way. There are probably pubs near there for lunch.”

Camille handed Richard her smartphone. “Show me where it is.”

“No, it’s too annoying to find anything on that tiny screen. There probably are tourist maps in the lobby. Or we can load a map on my tablet or your laptop.”

“That’s a good idea.”

They went to Camille’s room to use her laptop. While she started it, Richard unfolded a map he had picked up. Since Camille was using the desk, Richard sat on the bed with the map spread out next to him. Looking in the mirror over the desk, she watched as it dawned on him where he was and what he was sitting on. He fidgeted with the map, dropped it on the bed, then got up and looked out the window.

“Is it raining?” asked Camille. “It seems awfully dark for so late in the morning.”

“I think it is.”

Camille moved to the bed and looked at the map. “Show me where the museum is?”

Richard stood by her and pointed. “It’s um, there. An area that was once very industrial, then almost abandoned, now gentrified. I’m not sure where the Riverbus stop is.”

Camille moved over so that Richard could get a better look at the map. He sat and scanned the map. He pointed out Tube stops and Riverbus stops. He launched into one of his lectures, but Camille found it hard to follow. She was amused when it became increasingly halting.

“In the 70s and 80s, industry moved out, and a lot of buildings were empty. It was still, you know, a neighborhood with families, um, living there. Very much, you know, working class. Some of the, um, urban renewal, um, is new, you know, high-rise buildings. Lots of, um, offices, and, um, flats. Some is renovated—what is the name of your perfume?”

“What?” The non sequitur caught Camille by surprise. 

“You always wear this perfume. It’s spicy and a little flowery.”

“Island Queen. It’s made by a cooperative, with growers on several islands.”

“I like it,” he said as he leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Island Queen for the Queen of Hearts. It’s exotic and beautiful, like you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” He leaned in again, kissed her neck, and added softly, “And I like you.”

Camille wrapped her arms around Richard, and they fell back on the bed. The map slid to the floor, forgotten.

-o-o-o-o-

“Wow,” said Richard, blowing out a big sigh. “That was… are you all right?”

“Mmm hmm. Sooo much better than all right.” Hearing Richard start to say something and then stop, Camille asked, “What?”

“I was going to say _wow_ again. Crikey, Camille, you drive all the blood from my brain and I can’t think! You’ve reduced my vocabulary to that of a twelve-year-old. ”

Camille kissed Richard’s cheek and snuggled into his embrace. “There are times when thinking is overrated. I know that’s a difficult idea for you to accept.”

“Not any more. You’ve made a believer out of me.” He started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Sorry, I’m not a total idiot, and I do know that this is not an appropriate time to be laughing, but I can’t help it—I almost said _wow_ again.” 

Suddenly, a noise at the window startled them. 

“Ugh, it’s pouring!” said Camille, as rain lashed the window.

“It pours like this on Saint Marie and you don’t mind it.”

“Yes, but it isn’t four degrees on Saint Marie! Not ever!”

“Are you homesick?”

“A little, I guess. I understand better how difficult it’s been for you on Saint Marie. You consider this normal weather.”

“But you don’t.”

Ahhh, she knew where this was going. “No, it isn’t normal for me. But I did live in Paris for a year and I adjusted to the different seasons. In a way, I liked it. Living in a tropical climate, we get used to flowers year-round. Winter in Europe can be bleak, but it makes you appreciate spring more.”

“What else do you miss from Saint Marie?”

“Food with eyes?”

“Be serious!”

“All right. Seriously. Maman, obviously. And yes, seafood. And fruit—lovely fresh mangoes and bananas and melons. The ocean. The sky. Buildings in London are tall, and it’s hard to be in the sun. On Saint Marie, everything feels more open. How easy it is to be alone outdoors. Here, unless you go out on a cold morning and sit on a bench, there are always people around.”

Richard sighed, “That’s a lot to miss.”

“You did ask. I’m not saying I couldn’t learn to love London, but there would always be things I’d miss. And I thought we had agreed that we wouldn’t worry about details today.”

“Sorry, bad habit. I’ve got this whiteboard in my head. There’s a picture of you, a picture of me, a picture of a palm tree and a picture of Big Ben Tower. And for the life of me, I don’t know how to arrange them in a way that makes sense.”

“Just put the pictures of you and me close together. We’ll figure out the rest later. Meanwhile, we were going to choose a museum to go to. It’s still raining. What do you think?”

“I am far too comfortable to get up and get dressed,” said Richard. “Good Lord, did I just say that? I’m lying in bed, starkers, on a Sunday afternoon and I have NO ambition to go anywhere. This has got to be the ultimate in liming!”

“Liming is good,” said Camille as she trailed her fingers along Richard’s torso. “But if you need to be doing something productive, you could make sure I understand the difference between snogging and shagging.”

“Oh, wasn’t I clear about that? Perhaps I need to explain it again.”


	15. A Job Offer

On Monday morning, Richard and Camille went to Covent Garden to explore the market. They strolled through the stalls offering handmade items. Camille looked through prints of London and struggled to decide which print to buy for herself. She still had to decide which stall to go to for a present for her mother. 

“I’m sorry, Richard. I know you find this boring.”

“No, it’s… yes, I’m afraid I do. Tell you what, I’ll go over there,” he pointed to a café, “And have a cup of tea. Take your time, enjoy looking, and when you’re done, you can join me and have coffee.”

Richard had barely given the waitress his order when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and sighed. Might as well answer. 

“Poole.”

_“Hello, Bowman here. I trust you had a good weekend?”_

Richard smiled. Good was an understatement. “Yes, lovely, we went to the opera.”

_“Not my idea of fun, but never mind. I enjoyed watching you and Detective Bordey work last week. I wish I could add both of you to my team.”_

And here, it comes, Richard thought.

_“I can, however, offer you a position with SOCA.”_

“That’s very flattering.”

_“I know you’re a low-key kind of person, Poole, but I thought I’d hear a bit of excitement.”_

“Hmm, well, it would be a wonderful job. But I’m not sure I want to leave Saint Marie.”

_“That’s a bit of a surprise. You seem to complain about the heat a great deal.”_

“Well, yes, but there are other quality of life issues to consider.”

_“Would it influence you to know that a promotion to DCI would go with this assignment?”_

“It’s tempting. May I have time to think about it? Until tomorrow, perhaps?”

_“Certainly. Come to my office tomorrow, uh, let me check my schedule. How’s three o’clock?”_

“That would be good, thank you.”

Richard fidgeted with his phone. Just when one part of his life was going well, something had to come along to complicate it. How was he going to sort this out in a little more than 24 hours? For some reason, he recalled a line from Sweeney Todd. One of the DIs he used to work with was fond of using it. “These are desperate times, Mrs. Lovett, and desperate measures must be taken.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille settled on a print of Westminster Palace for herself and earrings from an eco-jewelry stall for her mother. She was about to join Richard when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

_“Sergeant Bordey, it’s Bowman here.”_

“Good morning, sir.”

_“I hear you had a good weekend.”_

Camille had no answer for that, but Bowman didn’t seem to notice the pause.

_“Did you enjoy the opera?”_

“Yes, it was excellent. _La Traviata,_ one of my favorites.”

_“It that one of the ones where the woman is dying of TB?”_

“Yes, it is.”

_“That’s the thing about opera that I don’t understand. She’s dying of TB and makes these pathetic little coughs, and then she belts out a high C before she keels over dead.”_

“I gather that you aren’t fond of opera?”

_“No, I’m not. But I didn’t call to talk about that. I just spoke to Inspector Poole.”_

Uh-oh. “Oh?”

_“Yes. I thought he’d jump at a chance to work at SOCA, but he isn’t sure he wants to leave Saint Marie. Can you shed any light on that?”_

“I’m not sure. What did he say?”

_“He said that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in London. That life on Saint Marie was at a calmer pace, and that he was surprised to discover that he missed it. He hasn’t said, but does he have a girlfriend there?”_

“Um, I’m not sure.”

_“So you aren’t aware of anyone?”_

“I don’t know.”

_“Stop being evasive. Cards on the table, Sergeant. Is it because you live there?”_

Camille sighed, then her words came out in a rush. “That’s part of it. I know it’s against the rules, and we haven’t sorted it all out, it’s all so new. Please don’t say anything to anyone. Please don’t report us or whatever it is you should do. It only just happened. I’ll resign if it comes to that, but don’t do anything to Richard. His job is such an enormous part of who he is. It would break his heart if he were fired or demoted.”

_“The no fraternization rules are a pain in the arse. If people had a little sense and could keep their private lives private, we wouldn’t need so many damn rules. Don’t say anything to Inspector Poole. We never had this conversation, I know nothing.”_

When Camille got to the café, Richard was ready to leave.

“Do you mind skipping coffee? I’ve decided we should get out of the city. You’ve only seen two cities. I’ve booked a rental car. You can see the hell that is the motorway and the heaven that is the countryside.”

Camille knew what Richard could be like when he was on a mission, so she agreed. On the way back to the hotel, he explained. 

“I thought we could drive out to Oxford, perhaps visit Blenheim. There’s a nice country inn just outside Woodstock. We could have dinner there.”

“That sounds nice. Any particular reason you suddenly have this urge to visit the country?”

“I just, um, I need to get out of the city for a bit.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille dropped off her purchases in her room. She wondered if she should dress a bit better for dinner at a country inn. She had the feeling Richard was up to something, but she didn’t know what it could be. Perhaps it was just that he was looking for a peaceful place to think. She was torn between bringing up the subject of the SOCA job and waiting for Richard to bring it up, which would probably not happen. It wasn’t easy for her to do, but she decided to let it go and not add any pressure. It was a lot to decide in a very little time. She knew what she wanted, but any pressure from her could lead to resentment later.

She took a minute to check the inn’s website. White tablecloths deserved better than jeans, so she changed into trousers and a pullover that she had worn to one of the training sessions. She was aiming for “country chic,” although she had no idea of what that might actually be. 

-o-o-o-o-

As soon as he got to his room, Richard made a phone call.

_“Hello?”_

“Hello, Dad.”

_“Richard, are you still in Manchester?”_

“No, London. I’m… that is…we…um, a work colleague and I are doing some sightseeing. Oxford, Blenheim, and I’ve booked a table at the Churchill Inn, just outside of Woodstock. I thought you and Mum could join us.”

_“Woodstock? Why there?”_

“Because it’s where we’ll be, and it’s a nice restaurant.”

_“How would you know? You’ve been out of England for two years.”_

Richard didn’t want to get into a debate on the merits of Trip Advisor with his father, so he said, “I’ve been there before, and the man who ran the training session said it’s still quite good, and one of the other detectives had been there, too.”

_“It’s a bit of a drive.”_

“It isn’t terribly far from Bletchley, Dad. I’ll be going back to Saint Marie soon, and it would be good to see you and Mum again.”

_“You could have come here this past weekend. That would have been easier.”_

“I had tickets for the opera.”

_“I don’t know about you. Why can’t you go to a film like everyone else?”_

“Dad, please? I’d really like this.”

_“Oh, well, I suppose I should agree. If I don’t say yes, you’ll call your mother and she’ll pester me until I go along with your plan.”_

“Thanks, Dad. Half six.”

_“That’s a bit of a rush after work.”_

“Sorry, Dad, but I’ll have the drive back to London afterward. Anyhow, half six is about the usual time at home.

_“I suppose. See you then.”_

Richard looked in the mirror. He thought about changing his tie. But no, best not to. It wouldn’t do to have Camille’s gift become the focus of one of his father’s comments. Tonight wasn’t going to be easy. He’d need all the luck he could get. He opened the dresser drawer. Maybe he should carry a lucky token, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Churchill Inn is fictional.
> 
> Thank you to Million Moments for a comment that gave me the idea of Richard having a good-luck token.


	16. The Battles of Blenheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, angst ahead!

Camille did not enjoy the trip along the motorway. Richard was a good driver, and she had faith in his ability. But she was used to the roads on Saint Marie, not multilane speedways. She hated the huge trucks, especially the double ones. Some were so long they’d have been unable to negotiate even the main roads on Saint Marie.

She was surprised at the amount of farmland they passed so close to London. During this time of year, most fields were brown and trees were bare. Richard apologized for the bleakness of the terrain, but she said she could imagine how green it would be in summer. 

“So tell me about Blenheim.”

“The first Duke of Marlborough, John Churchill was a general. He won the battle of Blenheim, and Queen Anne gave him an estate in thanks for his service in the War of the Spanish Succession. His wife, Sarah, was a great friend of Queen Anne, and rather powerful because of that. Blenheim Palace is huge and cost more than was expected. Some of the later dukes ran short of money, and the place almost left the family, but one of the dukes managed to marry American money and shore up the family finances. I believe the current duke is the eleventh.”

“Churchill? Related to Winston?”

“Yes. He was not in the direct line of succession to the dukedom, but in the same family. He was born at Blenheim.”

As they neared Woodstock, Camille began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Look, Richard, a caravan park! Maybe we could rent one for the night.”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Camille laughed harder, and Richard couldn’t help but join her. 

After he parked the car, Richard pointed and said, “The path to the entrance is that way. But come this way first. The entrance is at the north side, but I like the design of the south side.”

Camille looked at the house and frowned. “I don’t care for those turret things at the corners. They have too many pointy things on them.”

“Those turrets are called belvederes, points from which to see a view. But yes, they do seem too large. The architect Vanbrugh designed this house. He also did Castle Howard in Yorkshire. I like Castle Howard better, actually. I’ll have to take you there some day.”

“It’s so much, I don’t know, showing off. I don’t mean only this place. All of the grand palaces. I toured some when I lived in France. So much money spent to house one family.”

“Yes, well the duke was a powerful man. The estate was a royal gift, and the house had to do justice to that and to his status.”

“Who is that up on top?” Camille pointed to a bust above a pediment. “The duke?”

“Ah, no. I forgot about him.”

“Don’t worry, we can ask a tour guide.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant. I know who it is. I forgot about it being there.”

“So who is he?”

“You know that saying, ‘to the victor belong the spoils’? Well, that bust is a sort of trophy.”

“Who IS he?”

“Louis the Fourteenth.”

“Louis Quatorze?”

“Fourteenth. My country, my language. AND the language of the winner. The duke brought that bust home as a way of, as you said, showing off. Poor old Louis had to look out over the massive estate of the man who defeated his armies.”

“So you brought me here to tell me about a victory of the English over the French?”

“I honestly forgot about Louis being up there. The house is impressive. Try to forget its provenance. At least I didn’t take you to Wellington’s home in London. There’s a statue of a naked Napoleon in the entry hall.”

“Hmph! What a bunch of gloaters you English are!”

Despite the origins of the estate, Camille did find the house impressive. She enjoyed the tour guide’s commentary on the first Churchills. Camille thought she would have enjoyed meeting Sarah, the feisty first duchess.

After they finished their tours and did an obligatory wander around the gift shop, Richard suggested they go to the inn early and have a drink before dinner. As they sipped their drinks, Camille commented on the portraits they’d seen.

“I wonder what it’s like, living in a palace with all of your ancestors up on the wall, large as life.”

“Hmm, I’d never thought about it. It could be intimidating. Imagine being part of the generations that lost so much of the estate’s wealth. You’d have to walk past the first duke every day, knowing how you’d let him down.”

“But you’d know where you come from. I don’t really know. Maman burned all the pictures of my father. And I never knew his family. My parents met on Antigua. Maman was on holiday. She met my father and they fell in love and eloped. Then they moved to Saint Marie and started the bar.”

“What about your mother’s family?”

“They were furious. They said Maman was foolish to marry a man she knew for such a short time. Perhaps she was. I mean, he did leave us.”

“Did they ever reconcile?”

“My parents? No, I have no idea where my father is now.”

“No, I meant your mother and her parents.”

“Oh. No. I found them when I was in France. I called them and asked to meet. So I visited them. I’m afraid I was a shock.”

“Why?”

“Look at me, Richard. I don’t look a lot like my mother.”

“Oh. But your father was from the Caribbean. Didn’t they realize?”

“Bordey sounds French, so they assumed he was a tourist, too.”

“That must have been incredibly uncomfortable for you.”

“Yes. I felt less than welcome and didn’t go back again.” 

Camille looked thoughtful and Richard asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, exactly. I just… does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That I’m half black.”

“No, the half French is much more worrisome. Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have made a joke. No, absolutely not. You’ve been in two English cities. You must have noticed that we’re quite a diverse population. Certainly the police force is. I’ve probably met every color and ethnicity there is. It doesn’t bother me. Did I say or do anything to make you wonder?”

“No. It isn’t anything to do with you. I suppose it’s all those dead white people on the walls. The Englishness of everything.”

Richard called the waiter over to order a second whisky. Camille still had more than half of her glass of wine left.

“Richard, what’s going on? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink a cocktail or whisky. And you’re already having a second one.”

“I think I may have made a mistake.” Seeing Camille tense, he said, “No, oh God, no. Not about us. It’s just… I mean, considering your awkward visit with your grandparents, which I must point out I only learned about now, and if I had known about that I wouldn’t have, but now it’s too late and—”

“Too late for what?”

“Too late to call my parents and tell them not to come.”

“Your parents are coming?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Yes. In about a half hour.”

“And you’re telling me NOW?”

“I was afraid it would make you nervous and spoil your afternoon. It was an impulse. I thought since we were going out for a drive, they could join us for dinner. I only set it up this afternoon.”

“But if you’d told me, I’d have dressed better. My hair’s all blown around from being outdoors, and I’m wearing ordinary clothes, and…”

“You look beautiful, and your clothes are appropriate for our day out. I told them I was taking a work colleague sightseeing. I didn’t want to say any more on the phone. We don’t have to tell them anything about us if you’d rather not.”

Camille stood up, “I have to try to make myself look presentable. Couples TALK about stuff like this, Richard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to being part of a couple.”

When Camille returned, she saw Richard fidgeting with something, but he put it into his pocket before she could see what it was. He looked up as she sat down.

“I’m sorry. It was an impulsive thing to do. And you’re right. I should have asked you about it.”

Camille reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry for getting upset. I know you’ve got a lot to think about. And I know your visit with your parents didn’t go well. I understand your wish to make amends, but I’m not sure adding me to the mix will help anything.”

So Richard introduced Camille to his parents as a work colleague from Saint Marie. His mother immediately pounced on Camille with questions about Saint Marie because, she said, “Richard never tells us anything!” Mrs. Poole insisted on sitting next to Camille instead of across from her so that they could chat, “just us girls.” Richard sat to Camille’s other side, and Mr. Poole was across from her. 

Camille liked Richard’s mother. She was a bit scatterbrained, but very sweet. They chatted amiably, and Camille was stunned when Mr. Poole rudely interrupted them.

“Christ, Helen, stop yammering and read the menu.”

Mrs. Poole obediently turned her attention to her menu. Camille glanced at Richard, who looked uncomfortable as he stared at his menu.

Once orders were taken, Mr. Poole started to quiz Camille.

“So, you’re a detective?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m the DS at Honoré.”

“Only one DI and one DS?”

“Yes. And our constable and sergeant.” Camille knew the man must already know this, so she wondered why he was bothering to ask.

“Dead end,” he muttered. “It’s all well and good for you, you’re local. But I don’t see why they should make Richard stay there. You should be able to handle crimes committed by your own people. I doubt they could come up with anything terribly complicated, could they?”

“Dad!”

“No, it’s all right, sir. I can answer that.” Camille turned to Mr. Poole and said, “During the training sessions, someone asked me about crime on Saint Marie. I hadn’t thought about it much until I was asked. But many of the crimes are committed by tourists, not by locals. My people, as you put it, take good care of each other. It’s the people who visit who seem to kill each other.”

Camille noticed that Richard kept putting his hand into his jacket pocket. Did he have a good luck charm, too? She wished she had hers. She also wished she could squeeze his hand, let him know she was all right. She did the only thing she could think of. She slipped her foot out of her shoe and rested it on Richard’s foot, using just enough pressure to make sure he could feel it. She sensed him relaxing a bit. 

Mr. Poole pressed on with, “You don’t have a Caribbean accent.”

“No, my mother is French. Saint Marie did belong to France for a long time before England got it back, so many people on Saint Marie speak French.” She decided to be wicked and added, “And just about everyone can swear in French. Funny how certain words cross language barriers, isn’t it?”

Main courses were served, and conversation stopped for a while. 

Camille looked at Richard and said, “So, Ri—Inspector, how would you rate the Yorkshire pudding?” 

“Almost as good as Mum’s,” he smiled at his mother. “And as good as your maman’s.”

Camille recounted the story of the roast beef dinner. Then Richard talked about visiting Blenheim.

“It’s such a shame that it’s winter,” said Mrs. Poole. “The grounds are so lovely when the flowers are in bloom.”

Mr. Poole asked how much it cost to visit. When Richard told him, he said, “That’s ridiculous! Aristocracy expect people to subsidize their lifestyle. They should get up off their upper class backsides and get a job if they need money!”

“Managing an estate is a job, Dad. Frankly, not one I’d want. There are many employees to be responsible for. And an old house always needs something doing to it. I’m sure it’s an endless array of difficult decisions.”

“I think it’s nice that they open houses like that to the public,” said Camille. “It’s a way to learn about history and architecture.”

“I don’t suppose you have any great houses on your little island. Most people probably live in shacks,” said Mr. Poole.

Camille knew the intent was to rile her, but instead she smiled. Didn’t he know his own son lived in a beach shack? 

“I wouldn’t say we live in shacks. Caribbean houses do tend to be small. But it’s a warm sunny climate, so we spend a lot of time outdoors, rather than in the house. There are some lovely plantation houses, and in recent years, some very large resorts. We have a botanic garden and some small museums. Nothing on the scale of Blenheim, and nothing so old. We don’t have any aristocrats, either.”

“I don’t know why England took it back. They should have told the French to keep it. It sounds to me like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I mean, what’s your economy based on? Fishing? Raising goats and chickens? Can’t have much of a GDP.”

Camille could sense that Richard wasn’t going to be able to keep his temper much longer. He launched into a discussion of the tourist industry and its importance to the island. Camille excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.

When she came back, she heard Mr. Poole rant at Richard.

“You sound like a bloody tour guide. Is that what police do on Caribbean islands? You’re wasting the time and money the Met put into training you. Don’t you give a damn about your career? Or do you just want to sit on your lazy ass in the sand?"

Camille set a glass of wine in front of Richard. She stood behind him, with her hand resting on his shoulder.

“I can’t, I’m driving,” he said. 

“We’ll have coffee later, you’ll be fine.” Seeing Mr. Poole’s disapproving look, Camille shrugged, “Sorry, I guess it’s the French in me, but a good meal deserves a glass of wine. And so does a good man. And Richard IS a good man. He works hard, and our team has an exceptional clearance rate. I’m proud to work with him.” 

The rest of the meal was finished in silence. When the waiter arrived to take dessert orders, Mr. Poole announced that they didn’t have time for dessert or coffee, and left the table. Mrs. Poole hugged Camille and said it was lovely to have met her. Richard said he’d walk her out. He glanced at Camille, who nodded and gestured for him to go.

Richard walked his parents out to their car. When he returned, Camille was waiting for him in the entryway. She could see that he was even more upset. He suggested that they have coffee in the bar, rather than return to the table.

“No,” said Camille. She handed him a room key. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“But—” 

“No buts. Coffee may cancel the glass of wine, but it will NOT make you less upset. You can’t possibly drive tonight, and I’d just get lost.”

“What about the bill for dinner, I have to settle it.”

“No, all taken care of. I paid for dinner, got separate receipts so we can expense ours. And I’ve already paid for the room, so there’s no point in arguing. I’ll be right up.”


	17. Decisions

Richard stood at the window, looking out. There was nothing to see, he just stared off into space. He had left the door ajar for Camille. She entered and closed the door softly.

“Nice,” she said. “I’ve never slept in a four poster.”

“Hmmm?”

“Richard, come sit.” She set down the bottle and glasses she’d picked up at the bar, took him by the hand, and walked him to one of the armchairs. She sat in the other chair. She poured wine for both of them and handed him a glass. He took a sip, then stared at the liquid.

Camille picked up a remote control, read the instructions, and with a touch of a button, the gas fire came to life.

“There,” she said, “That adds some atmosphere”

“Camille, if you’re looking for a romantic night, I’m in no shape to deal with any more emotions.”

“No, I’m trying to make things peaceful for you. I know this was a difficult evening.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you through this. It wasn’t fair to you.

“Don’t worry about me. Let’s worry about you. I’m sorry if I made things worse by answering back the way I did. Did you argue with your father when you went outside?’

“No, not exactly. 

“Will you tell me?”

“You saw what he’s like. No matter what I do, it isn’t good enough. So I finally asked him what it was he wanted of me. What I could do to make him happy that he was my father. And all he said was that it’s too late for that. What is that supposed to mean? Has he just given up on me?” Richard set the glass of wine down, rested his elbows on his knees and let his head sink onto his hands. 

Camille stood up, walked behind Richard’s chair, and leaned forward to rub his shoulders. She couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make Richard feel worse. She was disgusted at his father’s attitude. He’d been condescending, bordering on racist in some of his comments. She knew that Richard had been close to exploding. If she hadn’t slipped her foot out of her shoe and pressed on Richard’s foot, he would have exploded. She could handle anything Mr. Poole might say. He wasn’t her father so, although his disapproval stung a bit, she could let it go. But it hurt Richard, she knew that. 

“Richard? You’re as tense as a coiled spring. Take a warm shower, breathe in the steam, and then we can talk.” She walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and picked up one of the robes hanging on the back of the door. When she returned to the bedroom, Richard was still sitting on the chair. She nudged his shoulder.

“Go on, shower’s running.” She ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. “Call me if you want company.”

Richard trudged into the bathroom. Camille undressed and put on the robe. She assessed the contents of her purse. Minimal makeup, tiny hairbrush. She was not going to look her best in the morning. Ah well, nothing to do about it now. At least the B&B had been able to provide toothbrushes, toothpaste, and a razor in addition to the usual toiletries. 

Richard stood in the shower, with water and tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He thought about Camille and Catherine. Whether they were laughing or arguing, there was never any doubt that they loved each other. It was the foundation of their lives. Camille had that confidence he admired because she knew that no matter what, she would never lose her mother’s love and support. If Camille hadn’t kept contact with him under the table, he would not have made it through the meal. As it was, he hardly tasted his food. He felt sorry for his mother. She was overwhelmed by his father, and didn’t know what to do for Richard except coddle him. Richard had been foundering, and Camille just took over. But it didn’t feel like coddling. She was—and he smiled in spite of himself—being supportive. And as if she had some kind of ESP, she chose that moment to knock on the door.

“Richard? Have you boiled yourself to lobster red yet?”

“Almost. I’m ready to get out. There’s, uh, not really room for two.”

Camille opened the door. “No, there really isn’t, is there? Never mind, then. I’ll be quick.”

They changed places. Richard dried off and put on his robe. True to her word, Camille was quick and was out of the shower just after he left the bathroom.

Camille had closed the drapes and turned off the fireplace before going into the bathroom. The room was still pleasantly warm. Richard lay stretched out on the bed, propped up by pillows and sipping his wine. He smiled when she joined him, and handed her the other glass.

“Thank you,” he said. “For more things than I can even think of. But mostly for keeping me sane tonight. And this,” he gestured at the room. “You figured out what I needed. How do you do that?”

“I know you very well, Richard Poole, despite the fact that you tried to keep me out for so long. I told you, you were a case worth cracking. It wasn’t difficult to see how much this evening hurt you. And that hurt me, too. There’s an old saying, ‘Let there be such oneness between you that when one cries, the other tastes salt.’”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille woke up in the middle of the night. They were still in their robes, sleeping on a ridiculously high pile of pillows. Her feet were cold, so she got up to turn on the fireplace. She sat in one of the armchairs, warming her toes. Last night had given her an insight into Richard that she never expected. When they’d talked about his father during the hurricane, she could tell that the disapproval hurt, but she’d had no idea how deeply. 

How could any father be so cruel to his own son? She’d wanted to hit the man, pummel him until he hurt as much as Richard did. And she’d felt sorry for his mother. God, didn’t they see what they had? Someone so special, so smart, so decent. And so caring—even if he was afraid to show it. Camille wanted to do anything she could to make Richard’s life better. If she said that, he’d claim it was pity. But she knew it wasn’t. _I feel sorry for you_ was pity. _Let me help you_ was love. 

And there it was. She loved him. She should have realized it when she was so worried that he wouldn’t come back from London or when she nearly passed out when the Commissioner said he was staying in London. She could not imagine her life without him. There wasn’t any question now. Whatever it took, wherever he went, she would be with him. It would be nice if he would actually ask her. But sweet, darling idiot that he was, she’d probably have to glue herself to him and not let go until he figured it out. Tomorrow—no, later today—he’d have to give his answer about the SOCA transfer. If he wanted it, she would stay in London. 

The relief of making a decision overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around her legs, put her head on her knees and cried.

Richard rolled over and stretched his arm out. The other side of the bed was cold. He woke with a start. “Camille?”

“Over here,” she said softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Delayed stress release. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Richard got out of bed and sat on the arm of her chair. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t. I wake up sometimes in the night. When you weren’t in bed, it frightened me. I suppose it sounds odd, considering how new this is. But it felt wrong not having you sleeping next to me.”

“That’s sweet.”

Richard moved to the other chair, and took her hands in his. “I’ve decided. I lay awake for ages after you fell asleep. I don’t know why it took me so long to make up my mind. It’s the obvious choice. I’m staying on Saint Marie.”

“Are you sure? I know that Bowman offered you a position at SOCA. If you want to take it, I’d stay in London…”

“No, I kept rearranging my mental whiteboard, and all the best pieces of evidence were on the Saint Marie side. I should have realized… And I should apologize for last night.”

“You don’t need—”

“Yes, I do. I’ve been treating my life like one of our investigations. Collect evidence, sort it out, make decisions based on logic, not feelings. Last night, I did the gather-the-suspects thing. I needed to see you all together. I had no illusions of a joyous gathering, with them welcoming you into the family. I needed—and this was incredibly selfish of me—I needed to see if my choice was the right one, and I used the technique I know best.”

Richard sighed and continued, “I suppose now you understand why I’m so bad with feelings. If I’d paid attention to them, I’d have known my answer the minute Bowman offered me the job. When I first got back, I was excited to be in London. But at the same time, I missed you so much. All of you. You mostly, but also Dwayne and Fidel, Juliet and Rosie, your mother. Even Harry. One week away, and I missed a damn lizard more than I had missed my parents in a whole year.”

He stood up, and pulled Camille up from her chair. “I’m certain, Camille. I want my life to be about more than my job. I know what I want, and that isn’t going to happen in London. So … come back to bed?”


	18. A Revelation

The next morning, Richard and Camille started downstairs for breakfast. They were near the bottom step when Camille realized she’d forgotten something and said, “Richard, I need the key, I want to get my phone.”

Richard froze. He saw his father standing in the entryway. It was obvious from the way he glared at them that he had heard what Camille said. Richard took the key from his pocket and handed it to Camille. She put her hand on his arm. 

He shook his head, “Go.”

“Are you—”

“Just go.”

Camille turned and went upstairs, but she could hear the conversation below.

“Why are you still here?” Disgust was evident in Mr. Poole’s voice.

Richard forced himself to stay calm. “We decided to stay, since I’d had wine and it was getting late to drive. Why are you here?”

“Your mother left her bloody glasses on the table. She’s always forgetting them some damn place or other.”

“Oh.”

“So what is this? Another of your pathetic attempts at rebellion? This is just another variation on the bleached hair. Grow up, Richard. You’re making a fool of yourself with that girl. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“A hot little number like that? She is sleeping with you to advance her career. She doesn’t care what she’ll do to _your_ career.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Or worse, the little tart will manage to get pregnant and demand you marry her. See how you like it when you’re saddled with a wife and kid you didn’t want. Believe me, it’s no picnic.”

Richard felt like he had been punched in the gut. “You mean, you and Mum… ?”

“Oh, grow up Richard. It happens more than you know. Your life ruined mine! I hope that makes you happy!”

Richard looked his father in the eye and said, “It doesn’t. I’m sorry you feel that way, Dad. Thank you for giving me my life. It hasn’t always been happy, but I’ve figured out how to make the rest of it happy. With Camille, grace à Dieu. Good bye, Dad.”

Richard turned and walked up the stairs, head held high, not looking back.

When he got into their room, Camille was fussing with the electric kettle. Richard dropped into the nearest chair and said, “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick. Or faint.”

She pushed on his shoulder. “Put your head down. Try to breathe normally.”

He did as he was told. A minute later, he felt able to sit up. She thrust a mug of tea into his hand. “Here. Drink this.”

He took a sip. “Ugh! It’s loaded with sugar.”

“Good for shock. Sip it slowly.” She rubbed his back, gentle soothing circles.

“Oh, God.”

“Shhhh, it’s all right. It will be all right.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough, he was pretty loud.”

“Camille, I’m sorry. He—”

“Shhh. Don’t you dare apologize for him. He should apologize to you.”

“And to you. He won’t, though.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Richard took a deep breath. “Oddly enough, this morning might be just what I needed. Last night when I decided to stay on Saint Marie, I had no second thoughts, no doubts. But if I did have any, they’d be gone now.”

As they walked downstairs, Richard said, “You know what this reminds me of? The hurricane. It was horrible and windy that night. But the next morning, the sky was clear and everything sparkled as if it had been washed clean. That’s how I feel. Like I want to go out and enjoy the sunshine.”

Camille stifled a giggle.

“Yes, well, I’ll have to work on the appreciation of sunshine. I suppose now I’m staying, I should buy factor 50 by the case…”

-o-o-o-o-

After breakfast and some time spent enjoying the lovely four-poster bed, they took a stroll around Woodstock. Camille phoned her mother, and told her about seeing some of the countryside and visiting Blenheim.

“Oui, Maman, I know. But that was four hundred years ago.” Camille rolled her eyes at Richard. 

He smiled and mouthed _She’s so French!_ He held out his hand toward the phone, and Camille swatted it away. He reached for it again.

“Un moment, Maman,” Camille turned to Richard and said, “Don’t wind her up about this!”

“I won’t, give me the phone.” 

Camille huffed and handed it over.

“Catherine? It’s Richard. I, um, just wanted to, you know, say,” he took a deep breath and finished the thought, “Thank you for being Camille’s mother.” 

Camille took the phone back, and listened to her mother for a minute.

“Maman! Non, Maman. Il n’est pas fou.” She said a few more sentences in rapid French that Richard couldn’t follow, and then ended the call. 

“Translation?”

“She wanted to know where that came from, and I told her that she was the world’s best mother. I think she’d adopt you, if you like.”

“No, I do NOT want to be your brother,” said Richard.

Camille giggled, “Given the past few days, I suppose that wouldn’t be right.”

Richard almost suggested another way Catherine could be his maman, but he was interrupted when Camille’s phone buzzed. She looked at the text.

_My office, 2:30? Bring Poole, he’s your job reference._

Camille showed Richard the message. “It’s from Bowman. Does this make any sense? Is he offering _me_ a job now?”

“Wouldn’t that be ironic? I’ve decided to stay on Saint Marie, and you’ve got a job offer here.”

“Obviously, I’m saying no.” She was about to send a text, when she received another message from Bowman.

_It will be worth your while. Trust me. ;-)_

“I don’t know about you,” said Richard, “But I’m curious. Time to head back to London, I think.”


	19. Exchanging Tokens

Richard always turned off his phone when he drove on the motorway, so he missed his mother’s call. By the time they had returned the rental car and gone back to their hotel, they had only a short time before they needed to go to see Bowman. 

Camille sent Richard to his room because they “really didn’t have time for that,” if she was going to make herself presentable for the meeting. He decided to risk telling her she would look fine.

“And if you think a comment like THAT is going to help your case, Richard Poole, perhaps you have gone _fou!"_

Richard nuzzled her neck and whispered. “I suppose I have. I am crazy about you, you know.” 

He left Camille standing in the middle of her room, surprised. He knew what _fou_ meant, so how much French did he know? And “crazy about you,” wasn’t “I love you,” but he was making progress.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard turned his phone on and saw that there was a message from his mother. He sighed. He was in no mood to listen to her try to smooth things over. It was what she did. But he was beyond that, now. Still, she was his mother…

_”Richard, it’s Mum. Oh, I do wish you’d answer. Dear, I’m sorry you and Dad had another row. He came home spluttering and I didn’t get quite all of it, but I gather you and Camille stayed at the B and B last night. You’re a grown man and we have no right to judge what you do. I do understand that. But he’s only concerned for you, Richard. Please call me.”_

Richard looked at the clock. For once, he really did need to get to a meeting. But he could take a few minutes to call back.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, Mum, it’s me.”

_“Oh, Richard, I’m so glad you called. I’ve been worried about you. Your father squealed the tires pulling into the drive, and slammed the door. It’s a miracle he didn’t have a crash on the way home. I didn’t like thinking you were on the motorway in a temper like that.”_

“I wasn’t in a temper, Mum. I’m all right.”

_“I don’t know what you two said to each other, but I gather that you’re leaving soon.”_

“Yes, a few days in Manchester for a trial, and then home.”

_“Home?”_

“Yes, home to Saint Marie. Sorry to disappoint you, Mum, but I am staying on Saint Marie. I’m on my way shortly to a meeting in which I will decline a transfer to a very nice post in London. Saint Marie has become home to me, and I miss it. It’s where my life is now, Mum. I’m past caring if Dad is proud of me or of my job. I’d like to make you proud of me, but I can’t stay in London and be happy. And I’d like to think you’d be more proud of me if I made the better personal decision than the better career move.”

_“Richard, I am proud of you. I always am proud of you. I love you.”_

“I love you, too Mum. I’ll miss you.”

_“I’ll miss you, too. But you don’t need to stay in our nest. You need to make your own. I understand. And um… please tell Camille that I apologize for your father’s behavior. She’s a lovely girl, and didn’t deserve to be treated so rudely.”_

“No, she didn’t. Thanks, Mum, I’ll tell her.” Richard sighed. There was nothing left to say. “I have to go over to the Met now, tell them I’ve made my decision. Bye.”

_“Bye, Richard.”_

-o-o-o-o-

Richard knocked on Camille’s door.

“Almost ready!” She opened the door and Richard walked in. He looked troubled. “Are you all right?”

“I talked to Mum. She apologized for Dad’s behavior, to both you and to me. And I told her that I’m going back to Saint Marie to stay. She seemed to understand. Oddly enough, she said she’s proud of me.”

“Not so odd. She tries to be a good mother and she does love you. You are still going to see Bowman, right?”

“Yes.”

“But where’s your tie?”

“I miss my favorite tie. You know, the one with the light blue stripes?”

“But you don’t have it.”

“No. You do.” He reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the tie. 

“How did you know?”

“I wanted to see what your good luck charm was. So that day when we were squeezed into the back of the lift, I picked your pocket.”

“But you didn’t take it.”

“No, I put it back. I thought it was odd, but since you hadn’t wanted to tell me about it, I decided not to push you. It was only later that I realized you must have missed me, or you wouldn’t have kept something of mine with you. I was quite touched by that. If you like, you may keep it.” He draped the tie around Camille’s neck.

“I thought you wanted to wear it today.”

“No, I’ve decided to wear this one instead.” Richard reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out a tie.”

“Really? To the Met?”

“Yes,” he said as he stood at the mirror tying the bright tie with the lizard design. “I think it sends a message, don’t you?”

Camille straightened his tie. It didn’t need straightening, but she liked the possessiveness of the action. 

“Richard, did you have some sort of good luck charm in your pocket last night? You kept putting your hand in your pocket.”

“Oh, um, it’s silly, really.”

“My bright pink knickers? I wondered where they went. I thought maybe they got tangled in the bedding and were lost when the maid changed the bed. Ohmigod! You were sitting there by your father, with my pink knickers in your pocket?”

Richard’s face was pinker than the knickers. “No, that isn’t what was in my pocket. I, um, do have them, though. I knew you had my tie, and I wanted to have something of yours. But I didn’t have the nerve to walk around with them in my pocket. My luck, I’d put my hand in my pocket and they’d fall out.”

Camille laughed, “Oh, that would be funny. Imagine you dropping my pink knickers in the great hall at Blenheim!”

“They’re in my room. I’ll give them back to you later.”

“Then what is your lucky charm?”

“This,” Richard pulled out a pin in the shape of a crown. “Remember when you said Dwayne was calling you Your Highness?”

Camille nodded. _And you called me the queen of hearts._

“I bought this for you as a souvenir before I knew you’d be coming to London. I thought it would be amusing, you know, because you were the Queen of Saint Marie. It isn’t anything good, just souvenir tat. I’m surprised I didn’t rub the gold plating off already.”

“I like it.” Camille pinned it to her jacket. Richard mirrored her earlier action by straightening it slightly.

“I’ve been meaning to give it to you. Yesterday as I was leaving my room, I considered taking the pink knickers as a lucky token, but I spotted the pin and thought it was a safer idea. I’d convinced myself at the time I bought it, that it was just a silly souvenir. But I know now that I bought it because you really are my Queen of Hearts.”

“You are very sweet, Richard.”

“Sweet? I’m the chief of the Honoré police. I’m supposed to be stern and intimidating, not sweet!”

“I won’t give away your secret. That’s a bit of information I’m happy to keep to myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Million Moments for a comment about knickers as a good luck charm. I hadn't intended to give Richard anything when I gave Camille the tie, so that got me thinking.


	20. A Carefully Negotiated Pact

Richard and Camille arrived on time, and Bowman was waiting for them.

“Thank you for coming in,” Bowman gestured for them to be seated.

“I’m a little confused,” said Camille. “In your message, you said that Richard is my job reference. But I didn’t apply for a job here.”

“You two are an HR nightmare.”

“Sorry?” said Richard.

“Let me explain,” said Bowman. “I just spent an hour on the phone with Commissioner Patterson. Here’s the problem. Bordey, you’re Saint Marie police. Poole, you’re Met. Although you’re on loan to Saint Marie, you’re still a London detective. So we’ve got two people who make a perfect team but belong to two different forces in two different places. You’re too good together to split up. I wish you could have seen yourselves when you explained about that case. You seamlessly bounced the story back and forth. You finish each other’s sentences. Two people who are that in sync should be kept together.

“So, how to find a way to keep you together? Patterson won’t let me keep you here, Bordey. And he wants you back, too, Poole. But I want you on the SOCA team.”

“Sir, I—” 

“Let me finish, Poole. With more and more money being offshored, there is serious concern about the potential for money laundering and associated crimes in the Caribbean. I need a SOCA officer based in the Caribbean. I had thought Nassau, but Saint Marie will do. Poole, you pretty much said you didn’t want to stay in London. I hope to God you still feel that way, because it’s set up for you to return to Saint Marie.”

“As part of SOCA? Rickets was SOCA, wasn’t he?” asked Richard. 

“Yes, he was.”

“And he was a DCI?”

“Yes, he was. And so will you be if you take this position. You will be a DCI, working for SOCA, but on loan to Saint Marie Police as needed. Your SOCA work may take you to other islands, so there will be travel involved.”

Camille started to giggle. Bowman looked at her questioningly.

“Sorry, sir. It’s just that Richard has a bad track record for lost luggage when he flies to Saint Marie.”

“Well, let’s hope that his bad luck quota has been met and things get better.”

“And Camille?” asked Richard.

“Bordey, you will remain part of Saint Marie Police. You will work with Poole on major cases, homicides mostly, as they occur. If he needs your help with SOCA work, he can borrow you from Saint Marie. Sorry, I can’t get you a promotion. You don’t work for me. And I wouldn’t push for a DI right now. I had to do a lot of fast talking to get Patterson on board with this.”

“He should be happy. He’s getting his team back,” said Richard.

“Not full time, which is what he wanted. I pointed out that I could transfer you without his approval. The problem is that he and I both want the two of you as a team. So rather than split you up, Bordey back to Saint Marie and you with me, we agreed to share you.”

“Is there a fraction of our time that we owe to each force?”

“An ongoing negotiation, at least to begin with. You will have to track your hours, of course, so that we can see how this sharing business is working. I trust your honesty, and that you won’t try to get us for overtime. Remember, Patterson and I have each other’s phone numbers.” This last comment was said with a smile, as Bowman had probably never met a more squeaky-clean cop than Richard Poole.

“I understand,” said Richard. 

“Patterson feels pretty good about this, since you’ll be physically on his island. Having a SOCA team on his force will give him something to lord over other commissioners in addition to your remarkable clearance rate. I used that to negotiate one more thing. Bordey, you report to Commissioner Patterson. Poole, you report to me or someone at my office here. On cases, obviously, Poole is in charge. But he does not evaluate you, Bordey. The Commissioner will do your evaluation, at least officially, with input from Poole.”

“That’s awfully complicated,” said Camille. “But if I understand this correctly, I’m Saint Marie, Richard is SOCA. We can continue to work together, both for Saint Marie and SOCA. He outranks me, but isn’t exactly my boss.”

“Exactly.”

Camille smiled, “So if we…”

“There are no rules I know of that forbid a personal relationship between people who work for different agencies.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Richard. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to sort out our situation.”

“You two are a unique combination. Your different backgrounds give you a way of looking at cases from different angles. I think it’s part of why your clearance rate is so good. Yes, you’re both good detectives, but together, you’re extraordinary. It’s worth a bit of an effort to keep you two together. So please, you two, make the effort to stay together.”

“Um, sir, I don’t, um… ” Richard stumbled, trying to think of something to say. Camille had to bite her lips to keep from giggling.

“Poole, I’m not blind. You two are more than partners, whether you realize it or not. Look, don’t tell my staff—in fact, don’t tell ANYONE—but I made the mistake of telling my wife about you two. She said that you must be—well, let’s just say she told me I had better not do anything to split you up. When I tell her I solved everything, she will be happy and my life will be pleasant. You’ll see how it works, Poole. Keep the lady happy is my best advice.”

Bowman stood and shook their hands.

“Thank you, sir,” said Richard, smiling. 

“Thank you so much!” Impulsively, Camille hugged Bowman.

Bowman watched them walk down the hallway together, Camille practically dancing with excitement. He smiled. His wife was right. They were in love. Good God, when did his job description include playing Cupid?


	21. Memory Lane

As soon as they were out of the building, Richard started making mental lists. Camille was babbling about how wonderfully everything had worked out, but he wasn’t listening.

“Richard! Have you heard one word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, Camille. But all of a sudden I have an incredible amount to organize. When I found out I was staying on Saint Marie, Mum went to my house and cleared out all my personal belongings. Some she sent to me. Most are in storage. Furniture stayed in the house, which has been let the whole time I’ve been gone. I need to talk to the estate agent about selling the house. No point in keeping it now. And I have to go through the stored stuff to see if I want to keep any of it. Lots of books, I’m afraid. What time is it now?”

“Almost three thirty. Come on,” she tugged him in the direction of a small café.

“You want to eat now? We don’t have time—”

“Yes we do. Fifteen minutes. You need a cup of tea. I wouldn’t mind a coffee, either. We’ll make a list of things to be done.”

Before he knew it, Richard was sitting in the café. Camille dug a small pad from her purse and slid it across the table. 

“Here. Start your list. Estate agent, storage, what else? Bank?”

“No, the bank isn’t a problem. There’s a branch on Saint Marie. Thank God I used a bank that’s nearly everywhere in the world. No safe deposit box. Mum has any valuables, not that I really had anything beyond papers. You know, personal records, not stacks of hundred-pound notes.”

“Good, that’s one item you needn’t deal with.” Camille smiled at the waitress as she set down their drinks. Richard didn’t even notice, as he was busy scrolling through something on his phone. 

“Found it!” he said, and tapped on a number. Camille listened as he talked to the estate agent. She poured milk into his cup and added tea. She pushed the cup in front of Richard and tapped on it to get his attention. He mouthed _thank you_ and went back to talking to the agent. She pulled a piece of paper from the pad, took out a pen and started her own list. She looked up when Richard gasped.

“That much?”

Pause

“What about the lease? Do you think that will be trouble?”

Pause

“Okay. Call me back when the papers are ready and I’ll be over to sign. Thank you!”

Richard looked at Camille’s paper. “What’s that?”

“My list.”

“For me?”

“Just things to think about to get you settled in on Saint Marie full time. I wanted to write them down before I forget. Nothing to think about today. What did the agent say?”

“The housing market is recovering and I could get a decent amount for the house. There is a sitting tenant, which can be a difficulty, but the lease ends in a few months, so even if I can’t actually list the house for sale now, I can make the arrangements. So say a prayer to whatever voodoo god helps you sell a house.”

“Not voodoo. Catholic. You need a statue of Saint Joseph.”

“What for?”

“Don’t laugh, people swear by this. You bury him in the back yard.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am not! Burying him head down is supposed to work best.”

“Camille, I am _not_ doing that. Do you know how silly that sounds?”

“Says the man who just asked me to pray to a voodoo god?” Camille raised her eyebrows. “What else needs to be done?”

“I suppose after I see the agent, I should look at the storage locker.”

“Can I help?”

“It’s likely to be a dusty job. I’m not sure what’s in there.”

“Where is it?”

“Croyden.”

“And the agent is in Croyden?”

“Yes.” 

“Then I guess we—or you—are going to Croyden. Then you could go to the White Hart again.” Camille bit her lip. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned that. It was one of his favorite places. Would going there make him second-guess his decision?

“Would you mind? I had hoped to take you out for a special dinner to celebrate. The White Hart is hardly the place for your little dress. And there is no way I’m letting you wear those shoes into a pub!”

Camille smiled. That last statement should have made her angry. Who was he to tell her what shoes she couldn’t wear? But the possessiveness of it was endearing. “We’ll celebrate another night. This is more important.”

-o-o-o-o-

Their first stop was the estate agent’s office. Most of the staff were leaving for the day when they arrived, but Ed Parker had agreed to stay late to sort out the paperwork. While Richard and Parker went over the plan for selling the house, Camille sat in the reception area. After the receptionist left, Camille took advantage of the quiet to make a call.

_Hello! Camille?”_

“Oui, Maman. C’est moi. I’m still in London. We’re going to Manchester tomorrow.”

_“How long will you be there?”_

“I don’t know. I may not even have to testify, so I could be home in a few days. Richard might have to stay longer.”

_“That isn’t what I heard.”_

“Have you been talking to the Commissioner?” Trust her mother to find out her news from someone else.

_“Yes, he stopped by to say that you were coming home soon and that the Met had not been able to steal you away. He seemed very pleased with himself, but that was all he said.”_

“Did he say anything about Richard?”

_“I asked, and he gave me one of those inscrutable little smiles and said that it’s under negotiation. What’s going on, Camille?”_

“Oh, Maman, it’s complicated.”

_“Richard is involved, so of course it is. Start by telling me what that conversation this morning was about.”_

“What do you mean?”

_“When he thanked me for being your mother. It was odd for Richard to be so personal. Is something going on with you two?”_

Camille paused. How could she explain this to her mother when she wasn’t quite sure about it herself? Richard seemed comfortable with Bowman knowing about their relationship. But he’d introduced her to the estate agent simply by name, no description, no _my girlfriend._ Still, he was committing to Saint Marie, which she hoped meant committing to her, too. 

_“So there IS something.”_

“I didn’t say—”

_“Ma chère, you waited too long to think of an answer. So you and Richard are … ?"_

“Working it out. I don’t have time to explain the details, but he’s coming back to Saint Marie, we will work together, but for different agencies, so that means there are no rules keeping us apart.”

“And that comment this morning, what was he thanking ME for?”

“For being a good mother. He’d just had an ugly argument with his father. Their relationship has never been very good, and to him, ours looks ideal.”

_“He’s never seen us argue.”_

Camille smiled as she heard her mother laugh. “No, Maman. This is different. We argue about STUFF, but we never doubt our love. They … it’s too difficult to explain. But he made the decision to return to Saint Marie. I offered to move to London, but he says his life is on Saint Marie now. So, Maman, whatever happens between Richard and me, please be nice to him?”

_“Of course, ma chère. We’ll just have to be his family now.”_

“That’s what I’m hoping for. But it’s happening so fast. He’s with an estate agent now, arranging to sell his house. He’s going to get rid of things in storage. I just hope that when he gets to Saint Marie, he doesn’t have second thoughts or feel that he was rushed into the decision.”

_“What about you?”_

“Second thoughts? Definitely not. I’m sure, Maman.”

_“You do seem an unlikely couple. But only you can know your feelings. It’s just, watching you two argue… Then again, they do say that it takes irritation to make a pearl. Perhaps you will name your first daughter Pearl.”_

“Maman!” Camille turned her head as she heard her mother laugh. She saw Richard standing in the doorway to Parker’s office. Parker was on his phone.

“Maman, I have to go. I’ll call you soon.” Camille ended the call and looked up at Richard.

“How’s Maman?” he asked.

“Wondering what’s going on. What’s next?” she asked.

“Mr. Parker is arranging for us to go to the house. See if there’s anything in there I want to take out before the house goes on the market. Or if, you know, there’s anything you, um, think we should take.”

Camille smiled at being included in the decisions. She’d been curious about his house. The beach house was furnished, somewhat haphazardly, when Richard arrived. He’d tidied it—Hulme had been a bit of a slob, apparently. But he hadn’t made any decisions about furnishing it. She wondered what she’d learn about Richard from his house.

“Right,” said Parker, emerging from his office. “The tenant is home, so we can go to the house now.”

-o-o-o-o-

The tenant, a young man called Bryan, greeted them, and made a joke about being glad he’d just done some cleaning. Camille was pleased to see that, joke or not, the place was clean and tidy. The furniture was plain, chosen for comfort more than style. It seemed that Richard was a minimalist. Except for books. There were a lot of bookshelves, but not a lot of books. Then she remembered that Richard had said they were the storage locker.

Bryan saw Camille surveying the shelves and said, “I’m not as into books as Inspector Poole is. In fact, I use the shelves in the bedroom to stack shirts on.

“There are _more_ shelves?” Camille squeaked. She could imagine a long night in the storage locker, sorting books.

“Oh yes. The house must have looked like a library when Inspector Poole lived here,” said Bryan. “I’m afraid I’m the Kindle generation. I buy virtual books.” He paused for a minute and then added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make an ageist remark.”

“It’s all right. Richard’s a bit of a Luddite about e-books.” Camille laughed. Seeing Richard’s scowl, she added meekly, “Kitchen?”

“Through here,” Richard led the way but Camille stopped in the hallway to look at something. 

“Omigod, Richard! Did you paint this? It’s signed _Richard!”_

“Hmm?” he returned to the hallway. “No. It was done by my Uncle Richard, for whom I’m named. He was Mum’s uncle, actually. He died when I was rather small, and she got several of his paintings. She gave me some when I bought the house.”

“We have to take this,” said Camille. “It’s from your family! You said _some._ How many others are there?”

“A few more upstairs.”

Kitchen forgotten, Camille ran up the stairs. 

“Oh! I love this one!” She stood in front of a small painting.

Richard looked over her shoulder. “That’s the Shambles, a very old street in York. Uncle Richard lived near York and loved to paint scenes of York. There’s one of the Minster on the other wall.”

Bryan had joined them on the landing. Richard gestured toward the bedroom and asked, “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. It is your house, at least for now. Mr. Parker told me you’re planning to sell.”

“Yes, that’s why I wanted to look around. Make sure there isn’t anything I wouldn’t want to leave behind. I’m sorry, I guess you’ll be turfed out in a few months. I’m not planning to take any of the furniture, so anything you want, please take it when you move out. Um, unless Camille, do you want any of the furniture?”

“I like the glass bookcases,” Camille nodded toward the glass-fronted cases that had once held books and now held Bryan’s shirts.

“Oh, the barristers. Yes, they are nice. But the cost of moving them may be prohibitive. I’ll put them on the maybe list for the moment.”

“I like the photos, too,” she said, pointing to framed enlargements.

“Not mine,” said Richard. “I’m not a photographer. These are excellent. Are they yours, Bryan?”

“Yes, I’ve been a photographer nearly all my life. Started with a little fake camera when I was a toddler, and worked my way up from there. My dad likes photography, so I guess I learned it from him.” 

Camille saw the wistful look on Richard’s face. Another parent-child relationship that sounded better than his. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

Bryan missed this interaction and continued, “There are two more of your paintings that used to hang in here. They’re wrapped and in the spare room.”

The spare room contained a desk and a few more bookcases. Cameras and lenses littered the bookcases, and a large computer monitor sat on the desk.

“This room was cleared out when I got here, and the desk is still empty,” said Bryan. “It’s been a good place to keep all of my photography gear. In my flat, I’d had it all crammed into a closet. It’s a joy to have a whole room for this.”

“You’re really good,” Camille admired the photographs on the walls. “How did you get inside a flower like that?”

“Not inside, just extremely close. I’ve got a great macro lens. When I first got it, I went a little nuts seeing how close I could get to things. Just after I took that shot, the bee flew off the flower and stung me. I had a blow-up made to remind me to be more careful in the future.”

They all laughed, and then Richard took one last look around.

“That’s it, then,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything beyond the paintings and possibly the bookcases. Camille?”

“I’ll leave it up to you, Richard.”

“Then that’s it.” 

Bryan retrieved the paintings from the closet while Richard took down the two on the landing. Camille led the way downstairs. 

As they were leaving, Bryan asked, “How soon will the house be officially listed?”

Parker, who had remained downstairs, said, “We’ll have to get some photos taken, measurements made, floorplan done. A week or so.”

“Could you hold off just a bit more?” Bryan asked. “I like this house, and I’d hate to move. I’d appreciate it if I could have time to talk to my bank and see if I can get a mortgage.”

Parker looked at Richard, who said, “I have no problem with delaying the listing. If you buy the house, it’s good all around. The sale will be easy for me, and you won’t have to worry about moving. And I suspect we’d both prefer to avoid strangers coming and going through the house.” 

As they left the house, Camille whispered to Richard, “How lucky! I didn’t even start my prayers to Saint Joseph yet.”

-o-o-o-o-

Parker offered to take Richard and Camille for a drink at the White Hart. Camille smiled. Apparently it was everyone’s “local.” They discussed a few last issues with the house and then Parker left. Richard and Camille stayed to have supper. 

Camille watched Richard as he sipped his beer and ate his fish and chips. He seemed so calm and relaxed. Was being in old haunts drawing him back to his old, familiar life?

“Camille, is something wrong with your fish?”

“Hmm?”

“Hello, Camille? What’s wrong? You’ve barely nibbled at your food.”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I was just… my mind wandered.” She resumed eating. The fish was good, and she didn’t want it to go cold.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“No, it’s just that my brain is on overload, with so much to do.”

Richard, no stranger to denial, knew that there was more to it than Camille was willing to say. But for now, he let it drop.


	22. Boxes and Boxes

When they opened the storage locker, Camille was impressed at the organization. Every box was clearly labeled, and boxes were arranged by contents. She wasn’t surprised that the boxes in the largest group were labeled “books.”

“Right,” said Richard briskly. “They’re open for only one more hour, so we need to look at this like triage. We’ll divide everything into three piles: ship, rubbish, donate. I doubt there’s much I’ll take with us, so the _ship_ pile should be small.”

Camille saw how longingly he looked at the boxes of books. 

“Don’t be hasty,” she said. “We can come back in the morning for a few hours. We don’t have to leave for Manchester until after lunch. Why don’t you start with books, and I’ll look at the other boxes?”

Richard opened a box and pulled out a sheet of paper. He held it up and called to Camille.

“Look at this! Mum inventoried each box when she packed it.”

“She did a good job,” said Camille, opening a box. “Richard! Ohmygod!”

“What?”

“You own jeans. And trainers! Why didn’t you bring any of this with you?”

“I told Mum to ship my work clothes so that’s all she sent me. I don’t need that stuff.”

“Yes, you do!” Camille rooted through the box, pulling out the trainers and two pairs of jeans. Under them were some police department t-shirts and gym shorts and a track suit. She opened other clothing boxes. Good God, there were MORE ties. Those were definitely going into the _donate_ pile along with the extra pajamas she’d found. By opening several boxes and swapping around the contents, she soon had a box of clothes to keep and two boxes for donating. She took out her to-do list and added a note to buy another suitcase to pack the casual clothing she’d found. Some of it would do very well for Saint Marie. 

“Richard, do you recall anything in the clothing you didn’t take to Saint Marie that you’d want?”

“No. I told you, it can all be donated.”

“Bed linens?” she called. “Your mother didn’t inventory these things, just labeled the boxes.”

“Donate. I hardly think I’ll want a duvet in Saint Marie.”

Camille poked through the box and agreed that there was no need for the contents. She pushed the box to the _donate_ area. 

Soon, Camille had worked her way through all of the soft goods. Richard’s mother had done a good job of keeping only usable items, so there was very little for the _rubbish_ pile. Richard was still looking through boxes of books, so Camille turned to the boxes marked _miscellaneous_.

One box held jigsaw puzzles and books of brainteasers. Camille smiled at the memory of Richard commenting that puzzles were things he could do by himself. No need for them now, so she marked them to be donated. The next box was a surprise.

“Richard!” she said, holding up a helmet. “Did you have a bicycle?”

“Yes, I did. Oh, perhaps I still do. It was in the shed. I guess Mum assumed it was all garden tools and such back there. I suppose I should check on it.”

“I’ll add that to the to-do list.” Camille watched him shift boxes around. He wasn’t heavily muscled, but he was strong. Trainers, gym clothes, bicycle—he’d obviously exercised when he lived in London. He was still fairly fit, but possibly getting a little soft. He’d likely stopped exercising because of the heat. He probably should exercise more, especially considering his age. She found herself having to work harder at keeping fit than she used to, and she was younger. Another thing for her “when we get to Saint Marie” list. 

Camille opened a box marked _desk_ and found file folders. Richard would have to look at those. There wasn’t much else for her to do. She noticed a sign on the back of the locker door, listing the services available to renters. It seemed that the storage facility could handle anything they needed. While Richard checked a few more boxes, she took out her phone and checked the website to learn more about “crate and freight” services.

Richard straightened from a box of books and looked at his watch.

“It’s about time to go. You’ve done all that while I poked through books?”

“I’m not attached to anything here, so it was easier. You should ship all the books home. I know how much you love your books. You’re giving up so much of what you had here.”

“Books are expensive to ship.”

“You can send them surface. There must be a way. Think of how much freight comes into Saint Marie by sea. Let’s look into that before you start throwing away your books. Can you take a look at this box of files? It might have important papers in it.”

“I doubt it. I told Mum to take anything that looked official.” Richard squatted by the box and started flicking folders open. No… no… no… um, no, too old.”

“What is all of that?”

“Old bills and receipts, mostly. Some photos.”

“Ooh, pictures. Give me that folder.”

“It’s just old stuff from when I was a kid.”

“Yes! I want it. Are there pictures of the caravan?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want reminders of my childhood, you know, considering…”

Camille took the file of photos. “I want to see them. Right now, you’re still angry, but you might come to regret tossing them out. Someday you might want to show them—um, look at them again.” She’d nearly said _show them to our children._ He probably wasn’t ready to think that far into the future. She hadn’t thought about it either, at least not consciously. But apparently some part of her brain had, because the thought of _our children_ felt very natural.

-o-o-o-o-

When they got to the hotel, Richard went to his room to get clothes for the next day. They had decided to stay in Camille’s room each night because it was easier for him to move a few things to her room than for her to move makeup, lotions, shampoo, conditioner, and “the other two dozen little bottles you have in the bathroom.”

Richard left his phone and the files from the estate agent on the desk in Camille’s room. She picked up his phone and tapped the screen. She tapped contacts and scrolled down. Should she? No time to be indecisive. She tapped “call.”

_Hello? Richard, I didn’t expect you to call again so soon.”_

“Um, it’s Camille, Mrs. Poole.”

_“Has something happened to Richard?”_

“No, no, nothing like that. He’s fine. He left his phone in my room so I thought I’d take a minute to say how glad I am that I got to meet you. And also say sorry for being, well… contributing to the awkwardness last night. I know I should keep quiet, but sometimes if it’s on my mind it’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.”

_“Ah, yes, ‘My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,’ as Shakespeare’s Katharina says.”_

Camille smiled. That was the sort of thing Richard would say. “Yes, anyhow, I’m sorry. I’m sure Richard will let you know, so act surprised, but he’s started the process of selling his house, and tonight we went through the storage locker. You did an excellent job of organizing it all.”

_“Make him take the books. He’ll balk at the expense, but it’s the one thing about his life in London that he should take with him. The rest is just stuff and doesn’t matter.”_

“I’m glad you said that. I want him to take the books, too. And your uncle’s paintings.”

_“When he calls me, I’ll back you up on that. You know, Camille, I think between us, we can manage him rather well. Would you be willing to give me your phone number or email address? I’d like to stay in touch with you. You know how men are; they never tell you what’s going on.”_

Camille supplied the information and laughed, “I’m going to enjoy having you as a conspirator.”

_“Good. I know you’ll take good care of my boy. I’m pleased that things are working out for you two. I had a feeling, you know, from his emails. And when I saw you together, I was certain.”_

“I’d better go. Richard will be back any minute.”

_“Of course, dear. One more thing. It’s none of my business, and I won’t say it again. But I would very much like to have grandchildren. Good night.”_

Camille ended the call and set down the phone. She shook her head and said to it, “I am NEVER letting you meet my mother!”

Richard knocked on the door a moment later. 

“I thought you were going to shower while I was gone,” he said.

“Oh, no, got distracted. You go ahead.”

While Richard showered, Camille looked through the file of photographs. Knowing what she did, it was easy to see that Richard was closer to his mother than to this father. Even so, Mr. Poole didn’t look as miserable as he’d made his life sound. There was a cute picture of Richard, aged six or seven, holding a fishing pole with a small fish attached to the line. Richard was grinning at the camera, and his father was smiling proudly at him. Richard wasn’t ready to see that now, but maybe someday he’d look at it and be able to feel better about their relationship. She put the folder aside and joined Richard in the shower.

Camille kicked Richard out of the bathroom so that she could dry her hair. While he waited for Camille, Richard called his mother, who didn’t give away any prior knowledge when he told her about selling the house. Helen was pleased that they were taking her uncle’s paintings. 

_“That will be nice, Richard. A little bit of England to look at.”_

“Yes. At first, Camille thought I’d painted them. Ha! She should see the rubbish I produced in art class.”

_“You should have tried abstracts. Nobody knows what they mean. What else are you taking? You are taking your books, of course.”_

“I don’t know, Mum. It will cost a fortune.”

_“Take them, Richard. I’ll pay for the shipping if it comes to that.”_

“No! I have the money. It just seems a waste.”

_“If you said you were taking a desk or a chair, I’d agree. But you love your books, and you should have them in your home.”_

“That’s what Camille said.”

_“She’s a smart girl, Richard. Listen to her.”_

Richard snorted, “Don’t worry about that! If she has something to say, she makes sure I hear it.”

_“Good. I think you’ve met your match. Hang on to her.”_

“I intend to. Goodnight, Mum.”

_“Goodnight, Richard. Call me again before you leave.”_

Richard turned off his phone. He shook his head. Thank God his mother and Camille would be thousands of miles apart. The thought of them ganging up on him was terrifying.

-o-o-o-o-

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Richard said to Camille, “You’ve run out of delaying tactics, pleasant though they are. Now, tell me what was distracting you during supper.”

“Oh, nothing important.”

“It was bothering you, so it’s important. Time for a ground rule. You said yesterday—God, was it only yesterday? So much has happened! You said that couples talk about stuff. So we need to agree that when something is troubling one of us, we talk about it.”

“But you have so much on your mind already. And it’s probably silly.”

“Tell me.” Richard kissed her and said, “I will probably imagine something worse than it really is, so tell me what you were worrying about.”

“Your house, the White Hart… I was wondering if you might have doubts. I mean, being home again…”

“Home? Camille, Croyden isn’t home. Saint Marie is my home now. Don’t worry; I have no second thoughts about this. It felt strange to be walking around in my house this evening. I felt as if I didn’t belong there. Without my books on the shelves and clothes in the closet, it felt more like Bryan’s house than mine. I hope he can arrange to buy it.”

“He’s nice. I hope he can, too. For all of our sakes.”

“It’s funny. When I was on Saint Marie, I kept saying how much I missed England. I will miss the cool weather, that’s true. But tonight I mentally said goodbye to the White Hart, and it didn’t bother me at all. And you know how things were at the station. Even with Anderson gone, I wouldn’t feel comfortable in Croyden. So I have no wish to go back to my old life. And even a new station in London wouldn’t be as good as Honoré.”

“It’s happening so fast, I wouldn’t want you to feel rushed or…” Camille let the sentence trail off.

“Or?” Richard asked. “Or what? Trapped? Are you letting my row with Dad worry you? Because you shouldn’t. I’d never feel trapped being with you or—um, being on Saint Marie.” He’d nearly said _with you or our children._ Wow, that was thinking into the future. But how could he not think about his future when he was with Camille? She was going to be right at the heart of it if he had any say in the matter.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then Richard spoke. “Camille?”

“Hmm?”

“I realize it’s been fast, but I want you to know that this is what I want.”

“This?”

“The move to Saint Marie… Us.” He paused for a moment and added, “I love you.”

No answer.

“Camille?”

“Mmmm, savoring the moment.” She sighed. “And I love you, too.”


	23. And More Boxes

When Camille woke, she saw Richard sitting at the desk, going over papers. He turned to look at her when she yawned.

“Sorry, did the light wake you?”

“No. I guess _yawn_ I was done sleeping.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me. Go back to sleep, it’s early.”

“Maybe. What are you doing?”

“Looking at the lists of books.”

“Richard, you’re taking your books. I’ll pay for the shipping if it’s bothering you so much.”

“Get in line. Mum already offered. It isn’t the money per se, but it feels foolish to spend so much on books. They aren’t all treasures, either in terms of literary importance or sentimental value. So I will cull the collection. That’s what I’m doing now, reviewing Mum’s lists.”

“If in doubt, keep it,” Camille said firmly. “Those books are old friends.”

“Yes, but amazingly enough, I’ve got actual live friends now.”

“What’s the saying? Make new friends but keep the old?”

“Go back to sleep and let me finish.”

“All right. But wake me when you’re done.” Camille rolled over to face away from Richard. As she did, she let the sheet slip lower for a bit of encouragement.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard let out a large sigh. “God, Camille, you’re going to kill me.”

She giggled, “Me? Who wanted to roll over and do it again?”

“I wish this hotel had room service. I’m not sure I have the strength to get up and get dressed.” Richard tried to look tragic, but the smirk on Camille’s face set him off laughing. “All right, all right, I’ll get up. But you should take it easy on me, at least until I’ve made you the beneficiary on my life insurance.” 

Richard went into the bathroom, and Camille lay in bed thinking about his parting comment. It was only a joke, but weren’t jokes about life insurance the kind of jokes that married people made?

When Richard emerged from the bathroom, freshly shaved, he said, “It doesn’t matter about the insurance. If you kill me, they won’t pay you.”

As she walked by him on her way to the bathroom, Camille purred, “Ah, but at least you’ll die happy, Richard.”

-o-o-o-o-

Despite having breakfast later than planned, they managed to get to Croyden shortly after the storage company opened. Camille took the paintings and left Richard to sort books. The storage facility housed a shipping company. The clerk at Crate & Freight helped Camille pack the paintings and arrange to have them shipped by air. He also gave her a price list for shipping, both air and surface. 

She returned to the storage locker to find Richard leafing through a book.

“Richard! You can read it on Saint Marie. You’re supposed to be sorting, not reading.”

“Agatha Christie. My first mystery author. I read several of her books one summer. From the library, mostly, but then Mum started buying them for me. She gave me this one for Christmas.” He closed the book, “Sorry, I got sidetracked. You’ve probably accomplished six tasks already.”

“Not six, but several. The paintings are on their way to Maman, by air. I thought they were worth the special treatment, and she’ll sign for them.”

“Great, another thing for Saint Marie airport to lose.”

“They won’t lose these, they aren’t addressed to you. I’ve got a price list for shipping the books, and I’ve got the phone number for the local Oxfam. I’ll call them as soon as they open. What can I do to help you?”

“The books on the floor go to the charity shop. Oxfam is a good choice, if they’ll take them. So find a box and put them in it.”

They worked for an hour, sorting and packing. Then Camille left to run some errands. She returned with a sturdy tote bag for the clothing she’d kept out and a cup of tea for Richard.

“Break time,” she said, handing him the tea. She sipped her coffee and surveyed the area. “How much is left to do?”

“Two boxes, most of which I’m keeping.”

“If you’re keeping most of the books in those boxes, just keep them all and we can call ourselves done. I called Oxfam and someone will pick up the donations later today. The manager of the storage facility will let us leave them in the office. And they’ll shred the box of documents. Almost nothing is rubbish, so that’s good. The clerk from Crate & Freight will be here shortly to discuss shipping the books. We’re almost done.”

“Thanks to you,” Richard said. “You’re a star, Camille. What would I do without you? No, I know the answer to that. I’d be back to my old life. I like my new life much better.”

Before Richard could thank her in another way, the Crate & Freight clerk arrived. Soon, the book boxes were labeled and taken away, and the locker was empty. Richard handed in the key at the office.

“Another part of your old life,” said Camille. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, absolutely. I should have given my bookshelves a good clearing out ages ago. I don’t look at this as _leaving_ somewhere. I look at it as going _to_ somewhere. With you.”

-o-o-o-o-

They went to their rooms to pack. As Richard emptied the dresser drawers, he spied the pink knickers. Much as he’d like to have a good-luck charm for the trial, it was too much of a risk to carry them. He looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize his own face, so relaxed and smiling. So much had happened in just a few days. His life had been turned upside down, and miracle of miracles, he was loving it. 

Camille packed quickly, being careful only with her suit for court and her LBD. She picked up the lacy peach underwear and said, “Soon, I swear, soon.” She kept out Richard’s favorite tie. He might want that for court, so she’d give it to him now. Just a few minutes, and she had one more thing to do. She took out her phone and called the phone number she’d been given by Ed Parker. 

-o-o-o-o-

As they waited in the station, Richard looked at their luggage and frowned.

“Camille, why do you have an extra bag?”

“It’s yours, actually, but I don’t trust you to carry it.”

“No, it isn’t mine.”

“Yes, it is. And don’t be angry, but it’s some of the casual clothing that was in storage.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do. If we’re going to spend time together outside of work, I do not intend to see you in a suit and tie all the time.”

“Well, obviously, not _all_ the time,” he said with that smile-smirk she loved.

“Richard, look… Yes, it’s sexy to undo and remove your tie. But it would save time if you weren’t wearing it to begin with. And, really, you need to have clothes for liming.”

“I thought we didn’t need clothes for liming.” The smile got smirkier.

“Richard!” she hissed. “I mean liming with the boys. Come on, you used to wear it. You wouldn’t have this clothing if you hadn’t worn it while you were in London.

“All right, I give in. It’s just that I feel the need to be formal on Saint Marie. I suppose it’s being Chief of Police. And the Commissioner, have you ever seen him not in full uniform? If it weren’t for the fact that it’s always crisp and fresh, I’d say he must sleep in it.”

“Well, at least you don’t sleep in a suit. But the pajamas—”

“Okay, okay. Any more changes you want to make?”

“No,” Camille smiled and kissed his cheek. “That’ll do for now.”

Richard pushed her away.

“Now it’s my turn to say don’t be angry. I’m sorry, but from now until the trial is over, we’re just colleagues.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no holding hands, no kissing, and much as it pains me to say it, no room sharing.”

“Why?”

“I know it sounds paranoid, but Anderson’s barrister has the prosecution’s witness list. It may occur to Anderson that we’re both here, and he may try to make something of it to rattle me.”

“How would he know about us?”

“He doesn’t _know,_ but if his brief is half as sleazy as he is, they may be watching witnesses to get some dirt on them. Any stray moment they can use. Don’t forget, that’s what Anderson does. He finds a weakness and uses it.”

“You’re right, that sounds paranoid.”

“I know. Indulge me. Please?”

“If I hadn’t met the pig, I’d say you’re being ridiculous. But it isn’t impossible, so fine.”

“Thank you. I promise a romantic dinner in a posh restaurant to celebrate when it’s over.”

“All right. Then for the last time for a few days, I love you.” 

Richard smiled, “I love you, too. And I’d kiss you right here in the station, but I see that they’ve posted our track. Come on.”


	24. A Witness for the Prosecution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments have prompted me to post this earlier than I had intended to. 
> 
> Just a few chapters left...

The next morning, they met briefly with the prosecution team. Richard would be called to testify about the crime scene and how the investigation linked the two murders. Fitzgerald was not going to be the lead prosecutor, but he intended to sit in the courtroom and observe his team. Before they went in, he told Richard that a package had been delivered to the office for him.

“Do you recall who sent it?” Richard asked.

“Jenny said it was from someone else called Poole.”

“Ah, probably my mother, sending me some of the personal documents she’d been holding for me.”

“You can pick it up later. Good luck up there.”

Because she was a potential witness, Camille had to stay out of the courtroom. They sat in a hallway, waiting for Richard to be called to testify. He seemed a bit fidgety.

“Are you nervous?” asked Camille.

“No, I just hate waiting around like this. It’s boring. I feel like a bear in a cage.”

Camille rummaged in her purse and pulled out the crown pin. “Here, take this for luck. Unless… no, you don’t have my knickers in your pocket do you?”

“Certainly not!” 

“Then take this. Pin it to the pocket lining, and you won’t drop it. Stick to the questions they ask and don’t elaborate. You know how you love to lecture.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to lecture you. Just remember that you’re smarter than he is. And he has to sit there and watch the jury discover that.”

Richard was called, and Camille said “Bonne chance!” as he walked into the courtroom.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard knew that the prosecution had already established the facts of the hit-and-run and also had shown the jury the sketch of the driver. So by now it should be clear to the jury that Anderson had killed Mrs. Teague. Richard’s job was to show the connection between the two murders, so that Anderson couldn’t claim the hit-and-run had been an accident. Camille would add to this, if needed, and Stuart would corroborate the conspiracy. 

Richard answered the prosecutor’s questions concisely and clearly. He managed to avoid being condescending or patronizing, and his testimony went quickly. Members of the jury seemed impressed as they looked at the dual sets of crime-scene photos. Anderson had gone overboard on the details. The two crimes were nearly identical; someone involved in the murder on Saint Marie clearly had to have known about the earlier strangling in London. And that had been Anderson’s unsolved case. One of many, but Richard stopped himself from making that comment.

Richard had known that this part of his testimony would go smoothly. He knew what would be asked of him and he had all the answers. Next came the cross-examination by Anderson’s barrister. Cross was always tricky. One never knew what the questions might be.

As expected, the defense asked Richard how he knew Anderson, even though the prosecution had established that both men had worked at Croyden. Then the barrister got into their relationship. 

“No, we weren’t friendly,” said Richard.

“Why not?”

“It is a large station, so not everyone socializes with everyone else.”

“Why didn’t you socialize with Inspector Anderson?”

“We enjoyed different things.”

“Such as?”

Fitzgerald had been right. Keep the answers short, and you’ll get the opening you want. “He liked to go to the pub at lunchtime, I preferred to take advantage of the mid-day quiet to read. I often read old case files, which is how I came to know about the earlier strangling case.”

“You’d rather read than go to a pub?” The barrister tried to sound incredulous. 

“In the middle of a workday, I think it’s better use of my time to read rather than drink.” Richard hit the tone of voice just right. Not sanctimonious or pompous, just a matter-of-fact statement. He looked right at the barrister, but he could see the jury out of the corner of his eye. He was pretty sure he saw a few jurors nod in agreement.

-o-o-o-o-o

In the back of the courtroom, Fitzgerald was impressed. Poole was smart, he knew that. But he was a better witness than expected. He seemed more confident and at ease than he had been during prep. Maybe he was like those actors who are never great in rehearsal but are fantastic in front of an audience. Whatever the cause, Fitzgerald knew it was going well. Anderson knew it, too. Fitzgerald had looked at him when Poole walked into the courtroom. Anderson looked confident, almost cocky. By the time they got to the exchange about the pub, Anderson looked subdued.

-o-o-o-o-

In the hallway, Camille fidgeted. Her hand went to her pocket and found nothing. Richard was wearing the good-luck tie. Probably just as well. She’d worry it to threads if she had it. She had faith in Richard’s intelligence and ability. She knew he was well prepared and had plenty of experience as a witness. If this were any other trial, she wouldn’t be nervous. But Anderson had berated and bullied him for so long that Richard might lose confidence. 

Camille knew that a jury would give a lot of weight to a witness’s demeanor. She smiled when she thought about the suit she was wearing. The Camille who stood in front of a jury wore a costume of serious respectability and an attitude to match. No jury had ever seen her everyday clothes or sassy attitude. It was important for a witness to look like someone the jury would want to believe. _Please God, let Richard remember the day he arrested Anderson, the day the bullying ended._

-o-o-o-o-

From the dock, Anderson watched Richard testify. He willed Dickie to look at him, knowing how well he could make the other man uncomfortable, but to no avail. Pompous prick, with his letter-perfect testimony. Reading instead of being one of the boys. And the man wondered why he didn’t have anyone to socialize with at the station. Poole was never one of the boys. Hmph! The boys. Stupid sods all deserted him once he was arrested. At least they didn’t turn on him and testify for the prosecution. Damn, Dickie was doing a good job. 

Anderson looked more closely at Richard. Something was different. He seemed more confident, stood a bit taller. Relaxed, but in control. Bloody hell! Anderson had to clench his teeth to keep from swearing aloud. His brief walked right into the pub thing. Poole was in control of the cross examination. Damn June for leaving the money to her sister. If he’d had the money, he might have had a better defense team. Anderson looked at the jury. They were buying everything Poole said. 

Anderson looked at Richard again. Something had definitely changed. Anderson had sneered at the time, but when Poole arrested him, everything shifted. For the first time, he’d been unable to stare down or rattle Dickie. “My name is Richard,” Poole had said in a tone and with an authority he’d never used on Anderson before. Remembering this, Anderson suddenly was forced to face his situation. He was in the dock, charged with murder, and had bugger all for defense witnesses. And that oaf of a barrister was letting Richard Poole bury him!

-o-o-o-o-

The barrister started to ask Richard another question, then glanced at the jury. Fearing he might do more damage, he excused the witness. As Richard stepped down and walked through the courtroom, he finally looked at Anderson. The man met his gaze for less than a second, then looked away. Richard shook his head sadly and left the courtroom.

Fitzgerald followed Richard into the hallway.

“Well done, Poole! They’re bringing in Stuart now, so we’re nearing the end. Bordey, you’re almost certainly not going to be called. So go have lunch, but keep your mobiles on, just in case. And not a pub, please.” He grinned and winked and returned to the courtroom.

-o-o-o-o-

“Sounds like you did well,” said Camille as they walked out of the courthouse.

“Yeah, it was easier than I expected. I didn’t look at him, because I didn’t want to be distracted. And I was supposed to look at the barristers and the jury, not at him. But if I’d stared at Anderson the whole time, it wouldn’t have bothered me. As I was leaving, _he_ couldn’t look at _me.”_

“Good!”

“It’s you, you know.”

“What is?”

“You make me feel… how to say it… you make me feel as if I can do anything. You were right, that day on the veranda.”

“What day?”

“They day we were playing Cluedo, well, trying to. You weren’t cooperating, remember? You were looking at someone through my telescope and said that I should try love. You were right. I’m glad I did.”

“Am I allowed to hug you yet?”

“No, but I wish you were.”

They found a café and ordered lunch. They were nearly finished when Fitzgerald appeared at their table. 

“Poole! There you are. Sorry to disturb you, but you are going to love this. Stuart was good. A partner in crime doesn’t always convince a jury, but after your testimony his confirmation of your theory of the crime was perfect. Anderson knows it, and his barrister knows it. He’s asking for the plea deal he rejected last week.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We’ve made a counter offer. More time than our previous offer. I think this is the first time Anderson has truly considered that he might go to prison for life. Oh!” Fitzgerald took out his mobile. “Excuse me.”

Camille and Richard watched Fitzgerald. A few brief comments, and then a big smile. He returned to the table.

“Virtue shall triumph and justice shall rise, the laurels of wisdom receiving as prize,” said Fitzgerald. “It’s from the end of ‘The Magic Flute,’ a translation, obviously. My wife had it done in calligraphy and framed when I joined the prosecutor’s office. I think it applies to today. We have a deal. He’s gone for thirty, no parole.”

“Congratulations!” said Camille.

“Congratulations to us all,” said Fitzgerald. “Thank you for your service to the Crown. You are hereby released from service as witnesses. Bordey, call Jenny if you need any help with travel arrangements. Poole, your arrangements were not made by my office, were they?”

“No, SOCA.”

“Right, well, they’ll take care of you then. Thank you again. Letters of appreciation will be placed in your files. Have a safe trip home.”

“So that’s it,” said Richard after Fitzgerald left. “We have the afternoon off. Any ideas?”

“I want to go say goodbye to Jenny. She was such a help when I first got here.” Camille smiled at Richard’s frown. “Sorry, not the suggestion you had in mind?”

“Just don’t get sucked into another shopping trip that will take all afternoon.”

“I’ll save some of the afternoon for you, I promise.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard walked Camille to the prosecutor’s office. He said hello to Jenny, and collected the box his mother had sent him. He almost kissed Camille as he was leaving, but then remembered where he was. “See you later” would have to suffice.

Jenny was due for a break, so she and Camille went for coffee. Jenny went right for the Big Question.

“So, you and the Inspector?”

“Hmm?”

“Camille! We have shopped together. That’s a bond that means you can’t lie to me about men.”

“That’s a rule I’ve never heard of.”

“All right, I made it up. But I saw how he looked at you just now. So?”

“Yes, we’re together. And he’s coming back to Saint Marie.”

“Oh, Camille, I’m so happy for you!” Jenny hopped up and hugged Camille. “You should see the look on your face when you said that. Ohhh, send me wedding pictures!”

“Slow down, Jenny. He hasn’t asked me.”

“Yet.”

Camille smiled, “He hasn’t asked me _yet._


	25. And Still MORE Boxes

Richard looked at the box from his mother. It must have important things in it, or she wouldn’t have sent it to Manchester overnight. He sat on the bed and opened the box. Inside, he saw various envelopes and items wrapped in bubble wrap.

A large envelope was marked _IMPORTANT PAPERS._ He looked inside and found his birth certificate, various diplomas and other records. A slightly smaller envelope was marked _SCHOOL._ It contained report cards—he couldn’t believe it, she’d saved every one! There were also some of the letters and cards he’d sent to her from school—they caused him to blink back tears—and a few letters written to her by teachers, usually accompanying a certificate of having won a spelling bee or some such event. 

He tackled the bubble wrap next. The police academy mug had held pencils and pens on his desk. He’d never drink out of it again, too much dried ink in the bottom. The collection of police shields from previous ranks chronicled his career. He smiled when he remembered that soon he would have a new one, as a DCI. 

A collection of souvenirs tumbled out of the next packet. The little gargoyles reminded him of holiday visits to cathedrals. He smiled at the “toothache man” from Wells, one of his favorites. 

A heavy packet contained a few medals he’d won for running track in school. He thought about the trainers Camille had insisted on packing. He probably should start running again. He’d let himself go a bit since arriving in the tropics. 

The next packet surprised him. It was a small velvet box, wrapped in tissue paper. When he opened it, a note fell out. He stared at the contents of the box, then quickly unfolded the note.

> Dear Richard,  
>  I would like to have given this to you in person, but you’re leaving soon and I want to make sure you have it. You said your life is on Saint Marie. I think Camille will be part of that life. These are my mother’s rings. You will probably want to get Camille something new. But I thought I should give these to you in case you want to do something sentimental. Silly me, I’ve always been the sentimental one. But even if you don’t give them to her, I—oh, gosh, I’ve written this note several times and I still don’t know how to say it. I guess these rings are my way of saying that I approve of Camille. I hope you two will be happy together. Actually, I’m sure you will be.  
>  And if you decide not to give these to Camille, perhaps your son will give them to his wife one day. I don’t mean to nag or push, and I won’t mention it again. But do give it a think, Darling.  
>  I love you!  
>  Mum  
> 

Richard read the note for the third time. He took the engagement ring out of the box. He was pretty sure it was too large for Camille. They could have it resized. Wait a minute. He hadn’t asked her yet. He was pretty sure she’d say yes, but he hadn’t given any thought to a proposal. He somehow had got the impression that men were supposed to be clever about a proposal. He’d seen fluff stories on the news about skywriting and such. Well, he wasn’t going to extremes like that. But she should do _something._ Too bad he’d already given her the crown pin. That would have been a good opening. Inspiration struck, and he put everything except the rings and the note back into the box. Those he tucked into his briefcase, where Camille wouldn’t see them. Then he went out to explore the nearby mall.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille had been surprised when Jenny handed her an overnight box. What could Helen Poole sending to her? As soon as she got to her room, she tore into the box. Bits and pieces of Richard’s childhood spilled out in front of her. 

There were some drawings, obviously done when he was quite young. She smiled at the amount of detail he’d worked into the drawings. One was a battle between armies of archers. The figures were crudely drawn, typical of a young child’s style. But there were so many of them, facing each other, arrows ready to be let fly. At the bottom, it was titled “1066.” She smiled. The Battle of Hastings. He did know that this was the _Norman_ Conquest, right? She’d have fun with this. 

There were a few letters Richard had written from school. She started to read one, in which he wrote of being homesick. She began to tear up, thinking of the lonely little boy who grew up to be a lonely man. Well, not any more. _You’ve got me,_ she’d said the night of the storm. She meant it; she wouldn’t let him be lonely again. She set the letters aside to read later.

Next she found a small stack of photographs. Helen had attached a note.

> I thought you might like to see Richard as he was growing up. The bleached hair and earring were University experiments. I’m sure it’s difficult for you to imagine Richard being rebellious, but he wasn’t always the serious man he is now. I’m not suggesting you get him to wear an earring again, but I hope you’ll keep him from becoming old before his time.  
>  HP  
> 

A bit of tissue paper was taped to the back of the note. Camille unfolded it, and a gold stud fell out. Richard’s first earring? She looked at the university photo. What would they have thought if he’d swaggered into the station in jeans, t-shirt, blond hair, and earring? She giggled as she imagined the Commissioner fainting on the spot!

A heavy item in bubble wrap turned out to be a small ceramic dog, probably an art project from school. Oh, dear, was it the dog from the story? He must really have loved that dog if he made an art project of it. On the bottom, it said, _Pal_ and _1979_. Knowing him as she did now, she understood why he’d told her about the dog and not some other story of loss. And why he’d made friends with a lizard before making friends with people. 

She’d saved the largest item for last. It appeared to be a book, or at least part of it was a book. She pulled the bubble wrap open, and found a book and a small cloth bag. The book was a well-worn copy of a classic children’s book. When she opened it, another note fell out.

> Dear Camille,  
>  Please forgive a sentimental mother, but I wanted you to have a few things from Richard’s childhood. I have albums full of photos, but I’m not ready to give them away—I still look at them sometimes and watch him grow up all over again. But I did take out a few for you.  
>  The drawings are here because you thought Richard had done the paintings in the house. As proud as I am about Richard’s other abilities, I have to agree that he is lacking in artistic talent. The dog is a long story. Richard made it in art class. It’s his grandmother’s dog, Pal. Richard was very attached to Pal and devastated when he died. Except for cats, Richard is quite fond of animals. Perhaps you might get a dog one day. It’s good for children to have a pet. Oh! Sorry, I did say I wouldn’t push on that front, didn’t I?  
>  Very well, one last push and I do promise I’ll stop. This is one of Richard’s first books. I read it to him more times than I can remember. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still knows it by heart. And the cup is his baby cup. Just in case, you know, if someday you have a use for it.  
>  I’m glad we had the chance to meet. I don’t know how to tell you how pleased I am that he found you. These bits and pieces of his childhood are my way of giving Richard to you, with my blessing. Love each other and be happy.  
>  Love,  
>  Helen  
> 

Camille slipped the baby cup out of its bag. It was small, silver, and had Richard’s name and birthdate on it. The handle was in the shape of a fish. She smiled. Richard’s sign was Pisces, the fish. She tried to imagine baby Richard drinking out of his silver cup. Then her eyes fell on the book. Suddenly, she saw Richard sitting in in the large wicker chair in the beach house, reading that book to a toddler sitting in his lap. She picked up the book and through her tears began to read, _Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits…”_


	26. Déjà Vu All Over Again

_…But Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper._ Camille smiled as she reached the end of the book. Had Richard been mischievous like Peter? He wasn’t now, of course. If the team from Honoré were the four rabbits, Dwayne would definitely be Peter. Perhaps she should offer him chamomile tea for his hung-over Mondays. 

She was thinking about what to do next when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

_“Camille, are you still shopping?”_

“No! We didn’t shop. Just coffee and a chat.” That was a fib. She had done a bit of shopping after Jenny went back to work. But that was to be a surprise.

_“Where are you?”_

“In my room.”

_“Would you like company?”_

“Do you think you need to ask?”

_“Don’t want you to feel taken for granted. I’m stepping into the lift as we speak!”_

Camille quickly gathered up the contents of the box and stowed them away. Richard probably wasn’t ready to look at most of it, which was why Helen had sent it to her. She might bring up the dog some time, if an opportunity arose. The book and the cup would be tucked away until they—if they—needed them. Camille touched the book before she closed the box and thought _until_ we need them.

She opened the door as soon as he knocked.

“Hi there,” she said with a smile.

“Hi.”

“So, is the embargo over?”

“Yes!” Richard said, sweeping Camille off her feet and carrying her to the bed. 

She looked up at him, giggling, but saw his frown. “What?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, and I am NOT saying you’re even close to fat. But my back isn’t as young as it used to be, so consider that a one-time romantic gesture.”

Camille gave him a wicked grin. “A hot shower will fix your back.”

“Really?”

“And anything else that wants attention.” 

-o-o-o-o-

“Tonight we stay in my room,” Richard said. “I’ve got a larger bed and it’s dry.”

Camille chuckled, “We didn’t towel off as well as we might have. But it will dry. Just leave the covers turned back. At least the maids will know the bed was slept in—well, not _slept_ in. How did you get a room with a larger bed?”

“Luck of the draw, I suppose. I didn’t want to tell you yesterday, because you’d have wanted to see my room, and once you were there, well, we seem to have problems with self-control when we’re alone.”

“That’s fine with me,” Camille said. “I use up all my self-control when we’re in public.”

“Do you have enough self-control to get through dinner tonight? I booked a nice restaurant. I thought we might give the little dress and _those_ shoes another try.”

“I can manage a few hours.”

“Actually, it’s my self-control we should be worried about. I’ll be looking at you in that dress and those shoes, and… ohhhh, no self-control at all!”

Later, when they agreed that exhaustion would serve as a means of self-control, Camille sent Richard to his own room so that she could dress for dinner. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille collected Richard at his room. He opened the door and said, “Stay right there.”

“Richard, what—”

“We have a dinner reservation, and we need to have no more than one of us in the room at a time.”

“Here, then,” she held out a tote bag. “It’s my dozens of bottles of stuff that you complain about.”

Richard took the bag, set it down in the room and joined Camille in the hallway. “I don’t know what we’re going to do when we get back to Saint Marie. My bathroom doesn’t have the acre of counter space you seem to need.”

Camille linked her arm through his and said, “We’ll figure it out.” As they walked to the restaurant, she tried to figure things out. Was he suggesting she move into his house? No reason not to, at least not a work reason. Her house was nicer, but not at the beach. She hadn’t given any thought to where they’d live. Moving in together was a public declaration of sorts. Everyone on Saint Marie knew everyone else’s business, so they may as well be open about it. 

-o-o-o-o-

The restaurant was everything Richard had hoped for. Elegant setting, perfect service, delicious food. A fitting setting for his beautiful Camille. He smiled at her.

“You look absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. Exquisite…”

“Richard, what are you—”

“I’m trying to make up for the clumsy _wow_ the last time you wore this outfit.”

Camille reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I told you, I liked that _wow._ It was spontaneous and honest. You don’t have to work so hard to compliment me, Richard." 

“I feel that I can’t do justice to you. The contrast never ceases to amaze me. You look so different at different times. The Caribbean cop in shorts and trainers, chasing and tackling a suspect. The professional in a suit, ready to testify in court. The goddess in a classic dress, getting admiring glances from other men in the restaurant. And I’m just,” he shrugged, “You know, me.”

“You think you’re _just you?_ ” she used air quotes, which got her a teasing scowl. “You’re so many Richards. Cranky Richard when you need a cup of tea or when the heat gets to you. Scowling Richard when you look at the white board, trying to work out a murder. Triumphant Richard when it all falls into place. Embarrassed Richard when you do something kind but don’t know how to accept someone’s thanks. Smiling Richard when you’re relaxed and happy. I love all of them, but smiling Richard is my favorite.”

“He’s your creation.”

“I intend to hang onto him.”

The waiter brought their meals, and conversation shifted to a discussion of the food and other mundane matters. Camille thought about all the Richards. She remembered what he’d said earlier about trying love. That day on the veranda she’d noticed how the woman from the spa looked so much younger because she was happy and, if not in love, at least enjoying the attention of a handsome man. Love had made Richard look younger, too. It was partly the increased confidence—and that wasn’t all her. His testimony this morning had helped with that. But he was also more relaxed, which showed so much in his face, especially when he smiled. It pleased her that she made him happy. 

“What?” Richard asked.

“What do you mean _what?_

“I’m wondering what you’re thinking about. You sort of wandered away for a moment.”

“Just daydreaming.” Camille smiled, “So much has happened so quickly. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.” _And with luck, it will get even more wonderful._

-o-o-o-o-

Despite the cold night, they strolled slowly to the hotel. Camille would be flying home the next day and, although they knew they would spend the night together, they both felt the need to prolong the walk. 

Richard and Camille finally reached the hotel. They walked to his door. She smiled, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“You’re welcome. It was a good dinner.”

“I had a wonderful time.” Camille slipped her coat off and placed one hand on Richard’s chest, sliding her fingers under the lapel of his jacket.

“So did I.” Richard smiled and removed her hand from his chest. He kissed her palm.

She said, “Do you have your key?”

“Right here.” He opened the door and held it slightly ajar. She looked at him and smiled.

Richard smiled back. “This is definitely déjà vu.”

“They say insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different outcome.”

“Then I suppose I’m insane. I’m hoping for a different outcome than the last time you wore that dress.”

“So am I.”

Richard pushed the door open and they walked into the room. He heard the door click closed as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

“Mmmm,” she said, as she loosened and removed his tie. She slipped her hands under his jacket and slid it off his shoulders. She started to unbutton his shirt. “This is definitely a better outcome than last time.”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around. Thinking about the zipper on this dress has been driving me crazy for days.” Richard kissed her neck and very slowly pulled the tab downward. The slightest nudge slipped the dress off her shoulders and onto the floor. Camille stepped out of the dress and turned around. Richard gasped.

“God, you’re gorgeous! Is that underwear from Paris, too?”

“No. I bought it when I first got to England. At the time I thought it was rebellion against having to dress so seriously. But if I’d been honest with myself, I’d have known I was buying it in hopes that you’d get to see it.”

“I think I caught a glimpse of it that day in London when you were unpacking. But I never thought I’d, you know, see you in it.” He shook his head.

“What?”

“I—we—you know, could’ve… the night of the opera. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Not if you weren’t sure, Richard.”

“I’m sure now. And it isn’t the dress or the lacy underwear or those shoes. It’s you. You’re fantastic—smart, beautiful, independent, challenging.” He smiled and added, “The living definition of _wow.”_

Camille resumed unbuttoning his shirt and said, “Then let’s see how many times I can get you to say _wow_ tonight.”


	27. The Best Breakfast EVER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I never expected it to be so long. But it's finished, so I thought I'd post the last three chapters now. Gimme that green checkmark!!

“Wow,” said Camille, “Saying _good morning_ never got me that response at the station in Honoré.”

“Nor will it in the future. We are going to have to be very good at compartmentalizing.”

“I suppose on slow days, we could sneak off to the cells.”

“Camille! Absolutely not!”

She giggled, “Can you imagine the boys walking in on us?”

“Never mind walking in on us, they’d hear us before they got to the cells. You get rather loud, you know.”

“Oh, and you don’t?” Camille’s giggles escalated to full-blown laughter when she saw Richard blush.

“We’ve had so much freedom being away from everyone who knows us, away from work. It’s as if we’ve already had our—” Richard stopped himself in mid-sentence. He reached for the phone. “I’m going to call room service. You’re leaving in a few hours and I want you all to myself.”

As she headed for the bathroom, Camille said, “Make sure you order plenty of coffee for me. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

They put on their bathrobes—Camille had announced that hotels that provided bathrobes would be a must for all future travel—and tidied the bed. Richard answered the door when the waiter knocked. Camille’s eyes widened when the waiter entered the room, pushing a trolley. It was like something right out of the movies—white table cloth, bud vase with a rose, coffeepot, teapot, a basket of pastries, and flutes of champagne. Richard signed the check and the waiter departed.

“Oh my,” Camille breathed. “How glamorous! I feel like royalty!”

“I’m glad you said that. Because you are, after all, my Queen of Hearts.” Richard went to the closet and retrieved a small gift bag, which he handed to Camille. 

She looked in the bag and saw her crown pin, nestled in foil-covered hearts. “Oh, you are spoiling me! Champagne and chocolates for breakfast.”

“There’s something else in the bag.” Richard watched her delve into the candy. Even though he was almost certain, he felt suddenly nervous. Camille gasped when she felt the box. She looked at the box, then looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Camille Bordey, Island Queen and Queen of my Heart, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Richard,” she sighed. 

Richard fidgeted and said, “Are you savoring the moment or trying to make up your mind?”

Camille flung her arms around him and said, “Yes! Definitely, yes!”

When they broke for air, Camille held up the box and said, “May I?”

“Yes, of course. They’re my grandmother’s rings. Mum gave them to me. I’ll get you your own ring, but until then…” he stopped, mystified by Camille’s tears. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” _sniff_ “It’s so sweet. Your mother” _sniff_

“Camille?”

_SNIFF_ She managed to control her breathing. “Your mother sent me a package, too. Bits and pieces from your childhood. It’s like the bride’s father giving her away. But in this case, it’s the groom’s mother.”

“She approves of you. I think she’d about given up on me. I suppose I had, too.” Richard took the diamond ring from the box and slipped it onto Camille’s finger. 

Camille held out her hand and sighed, “Wow. This is the best breakfast of my entire life.”

Richard handed Camille a champagne flute and raised the other one to clink against hers.

“To us.”

“To us!”


	28. In Transit

“Oh my God!” Camille exclaimed, “My clothes!”

“What about them?” asked Richard as he watched Camille gather her clothing.

“All I have is last night’s.” She put on her lacy underwear and looked around in desperation.

“What’s wrong with last night’s dress?”

“It’s a cocktail dress and it’s morning! What if somebody sees me?”

“What if they do?”

“I’ll look like I did NOT spend the night in my own room. Give me a shirt.” She dashed to the closet and removed one of the shirts hanging there. She put it on, rolled up the sleeves, and tied the shirt tails around her waist. 

“That’s amazing!” Richard said. “You made the dress look completely different.”

“A Paris education.” Camille picked up the shoes, shook her head and stuffed them into the bag with her collection of little bottles. “I’ll go barefoot. It looks eccentric but not slutty.”

Camille looked around to see if she’d forgotten anything. 

“Don’t worry. If I find anything of yours, I’ll put it in my bag or give it to you before you leave. Don’t I get a kiss before you leave?”

“Just a kiss, Richard. I have to put the last things into my bags. I have plane tickets. And you have train tickets, so we have to get going.”

“Women!” Richard said in mock disgust. “The minute they get the ring, it’s _not now, dear._ If I’d known you would be like this, I wouldn’t have proposed.”

“Oh! The ring!” Camille dashed to the nightstand and grabbed the velvet box. “You’re not getting it back, so you’re stuck with me. Now get dressed and pack! I’ll see you in, thirty minutes? I love you!”

She kissed him and ran to the door as he said, “I love you, too.”

-o-o-o-o-

They took the train to Manchester Airport. On the way, they agreed on how to announce their engagement. Camille promised not to tell anyone until he got home.

“And I won’t wear the ring, although I do have it on now. It’s too big for my finger, so I had to improvise.” Camille pulled a necklace from inside her shirt. The ring hung on a chain, next to a seashell pendant. “I wanted it close to me for the flight.”

She tucked the necklace back inside her shirt and added, “Close to my heart.”

Richard smiled. There was a time when such a comment would have seemed overly sentimental. But now he was genuinely touched by the gesture. He touched her cheek and said, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. So don’t dawdle in London.”

“Yes, dear.”

She swatted his arm and said, “Stop sounding like an old married man.”

“Yes, dear.” this time the comment was accompanied by a smirk.

Camille shook her head and laughed.

“Right, time to be serious,” said Richard. “I’ve got to catch the next train out of here if I’m to make my connection. Do you have your ticket? Passport?”

“Yes and yes,” Camille pulled her travel documents out of her purse.

“Good. I love you and I will miss you.” He kissed her and added, “And now I do have to dash for that train. See you soon!”

Camille watched him board the train and then she walked toward the terminal.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard made his connection and settled into his seat with a newspaper. He did the crossword, and it reminded him of the day he’d learned the term _liming._ He did the Sudoku, and thought of the night in the university weather station. He’d said he liked puzzles because he could do them by himself. And she’d said “You don’t have to any more. You’ve got me.” 

And he did have her. She’d agreed to marry him. He could hardly believe it. He smiled as he watched towns and villages rush by. The once-familiar landscape of England wasn’t home now. He was exchanging drizzle for sweltering humidity, pavement for sandy beaches, a solitary life for complete and total bliss. He took out his phone and sent a text.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille knew she would have to turn off her phone soon, so she pulled it out of her purse. As she did, it vibrated. She looked at the text.

_Made it to the train on time. Hope your flight is smooth and no handsome passengers. Miss you. R_

She smiled. He really was adorable. She quickly answered his text.

_Relax, seatmate is female. Love you! XOXO C_

Camille’s seatmate was quiet, preferring to read (Dickens) rather than chat. Camille watched a movie, then picked up her own book (Colette). She dozed for a while, and the next thing she knew, she was landing in Guadeloupe. Because she had extra luggage—she hadn’t trusted Richard to bring back the bag with his casual clothing—Camille opted for the ferry. 

Catherine was waiting for her at the dock. 

“I’m so glad you’re home! I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you, too, Maman.”

“Will you come have a drink or something to eat?”

“No. They fed us on the plane.”

“That isn’t proper food!”

Camille laughed, “No, not by your standards. But I’m tired. It was a long trip, and my body is on London time. Can you get a taxi for me?”

“Of course, Ma Chère.” Catherine waved over a taxi, and helped Camille drag her luggage over to the taxi. 

“Goodness, you did a lot of shopping while you were there!”

“It isn’t all mine. That bag is Richard’s clothing. It’s casual clothing I found while we were cleaning out his storage locker. Apparently, he did not always wear a suit outside of work hours when he lived in London. So there is hope for him yet.”

“And is there hope for you?”

Camille kissed her mother and said, “We’ll talk tomorrow. Bon soir!”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard tossed his suitcase onto the bed. He put the kettle on to make a cup of tea and took out his phone. There were two messages waiting for him. One was from the estate agent, saying that Bryan got approval for the mortgage. The other was from Camille.

_On ferry, almost home. WITH LUGGAGE. See, they don’t always loose it. Wish me luck with Maman. Come home soon! XOXO C_

Richard knew Camille had talked to her mother a few times, but he didn’t know how much she’d said. Poor Camille, all those hours in transit and then an inquisition. He opened his case to unpack the few things he’d need in the next day or so. He pulled out two shirts and something pink fell out. She’d hidden the pink knickers in his case. He caught his reflection in the mirror. He’d never seen himself look so happy.

Richard took out the dreaded tablet and opened his email. Nothing needed immediate attention, so he started a new message.

>   
>  I’m glad you’re home, save and sound. And WITH luggage. Bet I wont be so lucky. I hope Maman wasn’t to inquisitive. 
> 
> Sorry about typos. Virtual keyboard…
> 
> I’m in a hotel in Croyden. Bryan got his mortgage, so the sale should finalize quick. I’ll meat with everyone tomorrow. I should be home soon. 
> 
> Thanks for the good luck charm. If the house hadn’t sold I was thinking about getting one of those saint statues, and wondering if I should bury him with the lucky charm. Sorry, is that sacrilge?
> 
> It’s lonely and too quite without you. 
> 
> Love,  
>  R  
> 

He turned off the tablet and looked at his watch. What the hell he thought, one last time.

-o-o-o-o-

The White Hart was quiet this early. The bartender greeted Richard right away.

“Inspector! You’re back again. But where’s the lovely sergeant? Is she really a sergeant or were you having me on?”

“She is my sergeant. And she has gone back home. I’ll be going back in a few days. My assignment in the Caribbean is permanent, so I’ve sold my house here in Croyden.”

“The Caribbean sounds pretty good on a cold night like this. And if the ladies are all as pretty as your sergeant…” he smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “So what about your sergeant? Anything going to be permanent there?”

Richard grinned, “Yeah, she said yes this morning just before she left.”

“Congratulations! This pint’s on me.”

Richard had supper at the bar and chatted with the bartender until the place began to get full. He took one last look around, said goodbye, and left. For years, the White Hart had been his local. Richard smiled when realized that La Kaz had become his local. He walked back to the hotel through the dark, cold, drizzly evening. He tried to remember why he had preferred this to sunshine, sand, and surf. It seemed ages since he’d left here for Saint Marie. He supposed the Guv had chosen him for the assignment because it seemed a fool’s errand, so why not waste Poole’s time. If he had time, perhaps he should go back to the station and thank the man. No, not worth the trouble. If they thought they were better off without Dickie Poole, well, Richard Poole was better off in Saint Marie without them.


	29. Home

The team gathered in Catherine’s bar to welcome their Chief home. Catherine, who had been able to extract very little information from Camille, looked her daughter up and down.

“You’re dressed up. I haven’t seen you wear that dress in months. Not since the Erzulie Festival. And where did you get those?” she asked, pointing at the shoes. 

“Manchester. I know they’re kind of ‘city’ for Honoré, but I bought them in black to go with the cocktail dress, and Richard liked them so much that I went back for red ones.”

“You bought these to please Richard?” Catherine’s eyes widened. “You know, some people call red heels like those—”

“Yes, Maman, I know. Richard didn’t know the phrase, or at least he pretended he didn’t. I told him they were ‘follow me’ shoes, as in follow me home.”

“And did they work?”

“I’ll tell you all about it soon.” Camille kissed her mother and went to join the two officers waiting for their Chief. They were relaxed, sipping beers and nibbling on crisps. Camille kept looking at her watch and her phone. Still no text or call from Richard. 

Camille calculated the time from the plane landing to Richard’s likely arrival. 

“So he should be here around a quarter to six. And what time is it now?”

Dwayne sighed, “A quarter to six.”

It was time. Where was he? Camille fidgeted with her drink. Then she went over to the bar to rearrange glasses that didn’t need rearranging. She returned to the table.

“What time is it now?”

Fidel checked his watch, “A little past six.”

Camille tapped her toe. She looked at the light strings to see if there were any burned-out bulbs. She attempted origami with a cocktail napkin. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Almost half past,” said Dwayne before she could ask.

“Maybe the flight was late,” said Fidel.

“No, it wasn’t,” Camille answered.

Catherine didn’t say anything, but exchanged a glance with Dwayne. Camille had taken the time to check on the flight. So that’s what she had been doing on her phone.

“He’ll be here soon, Camille,” said Fidel. 

It was time. Camille fidgeted in her chair. She checked her phone again. Richard had texted just before his plane took off, but she hadn’t heard from him since. 

When Camille saw the Commissioner arrive, she stood up, ready to run to Richard. But Richard wasn’t there. What happened?

“Where is the Chief?” asked Fidel.

“Well,” the Commissioner drawled, “Bit of a problem there.”

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged glances, this wasn’t good.

“Too bloody right! They lost my luggage AGAIN. What is wrong with this place that they can’t keep track of baggage? It isn’t such a large plane, it isn’t such a busy airport. What’s the point of having a luggage carousel if there’s never any—”

“Richard!” Camille hurled herself at him. She kissed him and then said, “You’re home!”

“I told you I would be.”

“But you didn’t call when you landed.”

He leaned close to her and whispered, “The boss showed up.”

She nodded and whispered, “Oh.”

“Camille! What’s this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Catherine exclaimed. She ran to Camille and grabbed her left hand. Camille had used the distraction caused by Richard’s rant to slip the ring onto her finger.

“We wanted to wait and tell you together.”

“Congratulations!” said the Commissioner, who wasn’t nearly as surprised as they had expected him to be. 

Fidel and Dwayne offered their congratulations while Catherine asked one question after another, none of which was answered. 

In the midst of all this excitement, Richard whispered to Camille, “It’s good to be home.”

As they sat down to have a drink, Richard noticed that Dwayne was wearing the souvenir t-shirt. Camille entertained the group by reciting a list of “Keep Calm and” souvenirs that she had seen during her trip. 

“Oh!” she said, “I just thought of another. Keep Calm and Get Married!”

“That’s an oxymoron,” said Richard. “I’ll probably be a nervous wreck.”

“Have you chosen a date?” asked Catherine. “We need to start planning. The church, the priest, the dress, flowers, menu…”

Fidel laughed when he saw the look on Richard’s face. “Oh, Chief, you’re in for it now. Trust me, your life will not be your own until the wedding is over. Juliet’s mother got so bad that we nearly eloped.”

Richard watched Camille try to calm her mother, but Catherine continued to babble. Camille crossed her legs, and as she did so, she nudged Richard’s shin. He glanced down and nearly choked on his drink. His eyes met Camille’s and she winked. He managed to stop coughing and downed the last of his beer. He yawned, possibly a bit too theatrically, and said that he was tired.

“Jet lag and, um, you know, the frustration of losing my luggage. Again.”

Camille offered to drive him home, and they left La Kaz arm-in-arm.

When they got into the Defender, Camille slipped off the shoes and handed them to Richard.

“It’s difficult to drive in them, and I don’t want to scuff the heels. I’ll put them on again when we get into the house, if you like.”

“I’ve seen this dress before. I remember it well from the Erzulie Festival.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I remember that it ties in the back, and I wanted to check that you had double-knotted the bow.”

Camille chuckled, “Well, it isn’t double-knotted now.”

“Good. When did you buy these shoes?”

“I lied about not shopping the other day. I went back to the mall after Jenny and I had coffee. I thought you’d like a welcome-home surprise.”

“Very nice.”

“I did some other shopping, too. _Everything_ I’m wearing tonight is red.”

“Um, Camille?”

“Yes, Richard?”

“You know how I complain about you driving too fast?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t complain tonight.”

Camille laughed as she pressed down on the accelerator and headed the car toward home.


End file.
